


Stop My Heart, Start Your Pulse

by janescott



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: paperlegends, M/M, Prostitution, dub-con, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based loosely on this kink meme prompt: http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/29719.html?thread=28478231#t28478231<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop My Heart, Start Your Pulse

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I have to thank my fandom soul-mate, magenta for her patient beta-ing work, her tireless support and cheerleading, and for being #teamknights. Literally, this story would not exist without her, and there’s no way I can thank her enough. Special thanks to xsilverdreamsx for her amazing art, and for giving Owen a face and form that fit perfectly with the character. And thanks also for the patient betaing and the hand-holding when I would freak out over this on my twitter feed. Thanks also to the llama, etharei for betaing and hand-holding, and having that special knack to know how to get me going when I was stuck. Ugh, I’ll be thanking god and the academy in a minute, but I have to give it up also to the paperpushers weekly chat. You guys were supportive and pushed me to keep going when I wasn’t sure if I could. This story is really a collaborative effort. I wrote the words, but it never would have been finished without the help of the people I listed.  
> It’s a bit AU, and is set vaguely between seasons 3 and 4. There’s no Morgana in this story, but Uther is still hale and hearty. The Round Table has already been formed.  
> Art masterpost here: http://xsilverdreamsx.livejournal.com/33277.html  
> 

  


“Tell me again.”

Percy laughs and pushes a hand through the thick brown curls growing in a riot on Owen’s head.

“By now you could tell me,” he says as Owen pushes his head against Percy’s hand, looking like nothing so much as a satisfied cat.

“Please.” Owen pouts and tangles their legs together under the rumpled sheet. The room is too warm and close; heavy with the smell of sweat and sex. Percy glances at the window and frowns at the sky.

“It’ll be light soon,” he says. “And I’ve stayed all night again …”

“I like it when you stay,” Owen says softly, pressing his lips to Percy’s cheek. “I like it when you tell me about your home …”

Owen rests his chin on Percy’s chest and peers up at him from under his unruly fringe.

It’s an appealing picture, Percy admits to himself, smiling as he runs his hand down Owen’s back, tracing each round bone of his spine before resting his hand in the curve, his fingers nearly spanning the whole width of Owen’s back.

Owen’s eyes are big and shadowed in the near-grey light, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His mouth is swollen and red and there are dark marks on his neck.

“I wish I could, but - “ Percy’s cut off when Owen moves, sliding far enough up to look Percy in the eye, smiling. Percy stops talking and swallows, still caught by Owen’s sheer, clear beauty even after six months of … this. Owen kisses him then, his mouth soft and open.

He nips lightly at Percy’s bottom lip as he shifts until he’s straddling Percy’s hips, pressing down. Percy laughs because he could flip Owen’s slight form over in an instant - has done, many times. Now he lies back, enjoying the feeling of Owen’s body sliding over him, resting his hands on Owen’s hips.

They kiss slowly for a while, as though it’s the start of the night and not the grey start of the next day. Percy weighs his options as best he can as Owen goes to work on his neck, seeking out the spots with his tongue and teeth that are most likely to make Percy’s resolve waver.

Percy groans, his hands tightening on Owen’s hips as he feels himself growing hard again.

Owen laughs against his neck and rolls his own hips down, an unconscious graceful movement that has Percy’s eyes fixed and his heart racing.

“Please,” Owen whispers in his ear. “Just a bit longer …” Percy opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Owen’s rocking his hips again, and he’s somehow managed to slick his fingers from the nearly empty vial of oil on the bed and his fingers … he groans, soft and low as he works his fingers inside himself, bracing his other hand on Percy’s shoulder.

“Gods, _Owen_ , I, “

Owen just lowers his head and bites his lower lip as slips his fingers out and eases himself onto Percival’s hard, aching cock. He’s slick, still and open from before but oh gods still so _tight_.

Percy digs his fingers into Owen’s skin, biting back groans and curses as they move together, a sheen of sweat making their skin damp and hot. He draws Owen in tight as the heat coils low in his belly and he comes apart, feeling Owen’s release spill over both of them.

They lie quiet and tangled for a few minutes, unwilling to separate.

Finally, Percy shifts reluctantly, sighing.

“I really have to get back.”

Owen rests his forehead against Percy’s for a moment, sighing. “I know. I just, I wish -”

“Soon,” Percival says quietly, with as much sincerity as he can manage. He bites his lip because he wants to say: _I promise_ or _I swear_ but he knows Owen won’t trust such vows - has too many broken promises in his past already.

“Soon,” he says again instead, pulling Owen to him and kissing him, long and sweet and deep.

Owen winds his arms around Percival’s neck, pressing as close as he can opening up to Percival’s mouth and tongue and touch. Percival groans quietly into Owen’s mouth before reluctantly pulling back, disentangling himself from the boy’s arms.

He pushes off the bed, stretching out his tired muscles, grinning when he feels a warm hand sneak up his arm, tracing the outline of his bicep.

He seeks out his clothes, dropped in haste many hours ago on the floor. Owen falls back on to the messy tangled sheets and watches him from underneath his unfairly long lashes. Percival leans forward, plants a gentle, chaste kiss at the corner of Owen’s mouth.

“I’ll see you next week.”

Owen sighs and bites his lip, pushing and pulling at the blankets until he’s underneath.

Percival can feel the weight of all the unsaid words on his tongue, and he lingers for a moment, letting his eyes roam over Owens prone form on the bed. His eyes are half-closing and he’s pulled the blankets up to his chin.

“Owen - “

“I know, Percy. It’s all right. See you …”

Owen’s asleep before he can finish his sentence. Percival drinks in the sight for a moment, his eyes travelling over the lines and planes of Owen’s face and arms, cast wide on the bed as he sleeps.

He smiles to himself as he finishes buckling his belt. He lets himself out of the room as quietly as he can and starts down the stairs.

He meets Gwaine on the ground floor, coming out of a room, a grumbling sleepy boy wound up in a sheet behind him. “That’s extra, you prick. You cost me _customers_ by falling asleep.”

Gwaine rolls his eyes at Percival but digs into the pouch hanging from his belt anyway, dropping a few silver coins in the boy’s - Kay is his name, Percival remembers - hand. “If you didn’t have such a wicked bloody mouth, boy, you wouldn’t have worn me out.”

Kay raises an eyebrow, unimpressed as he curls his fingers around the coins. “Flattery gets you nowhere. Next time, I’m throwing a jug of water over your head.”

Gwaine makes an extravagant bow, and Percival has to put his hand over his mouth to stop himself laughing out loud.

“And they say _romance_ is dead!” Gwaine swoops on Kay, bending him backwards and landing a loud, sloppy kiss on his mouth before gently pushing him back into his room.

“Get some sleep, darlin. I’ll be back for you.” Gwaine’s grin is wolfish but Kay’s laughing even as he shuts his door.

Gwaine turns and claps Percival on his shoulder. “C’mon big guy. We’d better get back to the castle before the night watch finishes or we’ll be scaling the walls.”

Percival nods and sighs, letting Gwaine’s chatter carry them both out into the quiet streets.

He hmmms and nods in what he assumes are the right places as Gwaine keeps up a steady stream of chatter as they make their way through the quiet pre-dawn streets back to the castle.

He’s preoccupied; thinking about Owen, about how much longer before he can get him out of that brothel and make him … _mine_ Percival thinks, half-sighing. Some nights it seems like it’s going to be easy, getting Owen out of the brothel and into Percival’s bed alone; and sometimes it seems like an insurmountable task.

Every time he considers it, his brain throws up a thousand problems. What if the brothel won’t let him go? What if he doesn’t have enough coin? What if … what if the other knights turned on him when they found out?

Not Gwaine, of course, Percival thinks, glancing sideways at his friend. Gwaine had brought him to the brothel in the first place, months ago. Percival had been … shy at first but immediately struck by Owen’s laughing brown eyes and generous smile. It had been - it still is - irrelevant to Percival where Owen earns his money. All he knows is that he wants Owen to be _his_ and - honestly - damn the consequences.

He’s so absorbed in his own thoughts and making the occasional vague noises to show Gwaine that he’s still listening that he’s surprised when they reach the castle, just as the night watch is going off-duty. One of the guards recognises them and makes a crude joke about where they’ve been all night. Gwaine laughs easily, returning the guard’s banter, even as he keeps his hand tight on Percival’s massive bicep.

The guard doesn’t mean anything by it and as far as Gwaine knows, he’s the only one who knows that Percival’s paramour is a young man, but it does make him rather over-sensitive to off-hand, off-colour comments.

He pushes Percival gently when they’re inside the castle walls. “Go get some beauty sleep, big guy. We’ve training in a few hours.”

Percival blinks and frowns at Gwaine, like he’s just realised where they are.

“Oh. Er, right. See you later Gwaine.” He slaps Gwaine on the shoulder, nearly sending him into a wall, and sighs wearily as he makes his way through the silent corridors to his room.

Percival pushes open his door and closes it behind him as quietly as he can. He breathes in and out, rolling his shoulders as he moves towards his bed, carelessly discarding his clothes as he goes, too tired to pick them up and fold them like he normally would; not wanting to burden his squire with needless tasks.

But with the grey of dawn pushing through his heavy drapes, all Percival can do is pull off his boots before collapsing on the bed and letting the oblivion of sleep take him.

**************

Owen curls up on Kay’s bed, leaning against the wooden headboard. He watches his friend as he readies for the evening: peering into a shard of silvered glass as he applies kohl.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Kay says, not taking his eyes off the mirror. “I”m sure I could -”

Owen’s already shaking his head. “No. We made a deal that if one of us is going out for a job, the other goes with. I’m going with you.”

Kay sighs and steps back, squinting at his handiwork. It will have to do. He comes over to the bed and runs an affectionate hand through Owen’s hair, absently patting down loose strands.

“It’s just …”

Owen reaches out and tugs at Kay’s free hand until he collapses on the bed.

“If you’re worried about Percival, don’t. I was working here when I met him, it’s not like he doesn’t know what I do for a living. He’s … fine with it.”

Kay rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He can’t meet Owen’s eyes right now. “Yes, yes. But these men … they’re thugs, Owen. You’re used to being treated so well here and I just, I don’t know …” he trails off as Owen lies down beside him. He’s protected Owen as best as he could over the past year - ever since he nearly tripped over him, starving and snarling in the depths of winter, trying to keep warm in a stinking alleway.

_I can show you a better life than this. Come with me._

Since then, Owen’s been … petted for want of a better word. Spoiled; by Kay, by Agatha and the girls. They all give him the pick of the clients: the ones with the gentlest hands and the most regard for the whores as people, as opposed to a means for relief.

And then. Enter Percival and Owen’s life is on the verge of changing.

“I’ll be with you,” Owen says, tangling their fingers together on top of the bedcovers. “Of course I’ll be all right.”

Kay sighs but swallows the rest of his misgivings. They made the pact when Owen first started working - right after he turned sixteen, as near as he could figure it out, about a month after Kay had brought him here - all wide eyes and too-long arms and legs, that sometimes Kay forgets about it.

This is only the second time in the past year that they’ve left the brothel for a job and the stakes are so much higher this time. Mentally Kay curses the man who’s led them to this: himself and Owen offered up as partial payment for the weakness of someone else.

But, he rationalises as he lets Owen pull him up from the bed, this is what they do. This is what they’re paid for. They are, after all, whores, no matter how nicely you might dress it up and try and give it some kind of noble slant.

He lets Owen slip his hand through his arm as they walk through the quiet streets to the moneylender’s house, where they’re to be the, ah, guests, of two of his closest men for the evening.

It will cut the debt owed to the man by Agatha’s brother by a third and - hopefully - stop the moneylender’s men from hanging around the brothel. They’re nothing but the lowest thugs and they always make the back of Kay’s neck prickle unpleasantly.

There’s nothing that will stop Bran from haunting Camelot’s lowest taverns and gambling away money he can ill afford to lose and Kay has the sinking feeling that this may not be his and Owen’s last visit to the moneylender’s house.

The house is at the outer reaches of the Lower Town, a mean, three-storied wooden building that gives Kay a shiver deep in his guts. He fights an overwhelming urge to turn to Owen, to tell him to run, get away from all of them as fast as he can; from the moneylender, the thugs, even Kay himself who brought Owen into this life in the first place.

He wants to tell Owen to go to Percy now; to leave all of it behind, that his knight will take him in without hesitation even though he’d agreed to buy Owen out of his place in the brothel. Agatha was a good woman as far as madams went but she was also a businesswoman.

Kay shakes his head and sighs. All he can really do tonight is keep as good an eye on Owen as he can and make sure they both get back to the brothel in one piece.

Later, much later, Kay will ask himself if he could have done more. Stopped it from happening. Worked harder to convince Owen to stay back. Anything.

Some things stay sharp in his mind. Being let into the house. Meeting the thugs. Sweaty hand on the back of his neck; a sharp glance sideways to see Owen already on his knees his eyes wide and streaming. He’s able to flick his eyes sideways to Kay for a moment, give him a wink that later on Kay will see in his worst dreams, even as the thug digs his fingers into the back of Owen’s neck and grunts something, making Owen turn his gaze back and down, redoubling his efforts to get the brute off as fast as he can.

Everything else flickers like a torch guttering in a draft, making shadows and confusion.

He can’t remember why or how it started but somehow Owen ended up with the man who’s always given Kay an unpleasant shudder. His remaining eye is dead and cold and there’s thick scar tissue where his other one should be. He’s a murderer, a thief and the lowest of the low, and the very last person Kay would want anywhere near Owen. Kay’s heard stories around the brothel about him from a couple of the girls who have been there long enough to finally be able to pick and choose who they went with. Or - they had been able to until Agatha’s brother had showed up one night, bleeding and bruised; _begging_ her to help him.

Agatha is a tough woman. An ex-whore who had taken over the brothel years ago in a legendary coup that now only a couple of the others remember, she has a blind spot where her brother is concerned. Unfortunately that blind spot Kay thinks as he feels himself shoved to his knees and begins unlacing his own thug’s breeches, working on automatic pilot - is quite possibly going to get one of them badly hurt.

Or worse.

The room they’re sharing - a low bedroom under the steep eaves of the house - is quiet apart from the usual noises; nothing out of the ordinary, nothing Kay hasn’t heard in five years of working at the brothel.

The sharp, sudden crack, like a branch snapping suddenly, is loud and shocking. Kay stumbles as the thug he’s with pushes him back and then, he sees _blood_ and _Owen_ crumpled in the corner and oh gods that’s just... wrong.

“Hold that one. I don’t like my _lessons_ to be interrupted.”

Hands like iron around his arms. Owen crying out as he’s beaten with a belt and kicked repeatedly, his cries tapering off to whimpers and finally silence.

Kay sags in his captor’s grip, not realising he’d been struggling till then.

Bile clogs his throat but he swallows, hard and his stomach roils but nothing happens.

“He dead?”

An indifferent shrug. “Don’t know. You, boy …”

The thug turns his cold eye on Kay.“What’s the name of that knight? The one that’s been mooning over this one? I heard your madam talking to Bors about him. His name, boy. I won’t ask again.”

Later, it’s this that Kay regrets the most. That at the very end, he can’t protect his friend, can’t save him; can’t save Percival who’s been nothing but _good_ to Owen.

“S-Sir Percival.” His voice is barely a croak and he wonders, distantly, if he’s been screaming. Not that there’s anyone in this godforsaken part of town that would come to his aid.

He’s let go, suddenly, and collapses to the floor, struggling to pull himself up. “Right. You know where his room is in the castle?”

Kay pulls himself to his feet and staggers, dizzy for a moment, but stays upright.

“I - yes.”

“Then you’re coming with me. I ain’t swinging for no whore. And if you know what’s good for you _boy_ you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

Kay nods, unable to speak.

The other thug sighs and scratches his hand through his hair. “Boss won’t like this. That boy’s a good earner. Or he was.”

“I don’t give a fuck what he was. He _bit_ me. You go break the news, me and this lad here are going for a little walk to the castle.”

**************

“So are you coming with us or not?”

Percival looks up from his bed, blinking in confusion. Gwaine is lounging in the open doorway, one arm propped on the jamb, his red cloak somehow flaring dramatically even though he’s standing still.

“Er, coming where?” Percival asks, feeling as though he’s missed half the conversation which, with Gwaine, really isn’t all that unusual.

“To the tavern. You, me, Leon, Elyan … even Lance is coming. He’s been driving Gwen nuts, all overprotective over the baby and her, and she’s happy to see the back of him for a night. Plus, we haven’t celebrated the happy couple’s excellent news yet.”

Percival rolls his eyes and just shakes his head. “I can’t … I need to save my coin, Gwaine. You know that. I can’t just go off to the tavern because you want me to.”

“As to that,” Gwaine says cheerfully, coming all the way into Percival’s room and holding out his hand, “I beat Leon at cards earlier today. He’s paying. And Lance and Gwen adding to the population - well in a few months - has put him in a generous and sentimental mood. Your coin is perfectly safe.”

Percival sighs but holds out his hand and lets Gwaine pull him to his feet.

“Now we’re talking. Also, I may or may not have made a bet with Leon and Elyan that we could out-drink them. Lance is going to referee …”

Percival sighs and shakes his head, as he follows Gwaine out of the castle and through the streets to the tavern. The others are already there, having taken over a large table in the corner.

There are large, foaming tankards on the table and the last time Percival saw that look in Leon’s eyes, six bandits lay dead around him five minutes later.

“Why do I let you talk me into these things? This is not going to end well.”

“Yes, my friend,” Gwaine says, sitting astride one of the long benches at the table, “but the question is who is it going to end badly _for?_ ”

Percival laughs at that, pulling one of the overfull tankards towards himself. He drains half of it right off, feeling the steel band around his chest ease somewhat in the company of his fellow knights.

Growing up in a small village, Percival had never really made friends easily. He’d come into his full growth early and so had been put to work in the fields, Cenred’s taxes making life hard for everyone, until the raid that had ended everything; the village left no more than a smoking wreck and Percival fleeing for Camelot, his parents’ faces as soldiers put them to the sword forever etched on his memory. He had wanted to stay, wanted to fight but his father had made him promise:

“You get out of here, Percival. You _run_. I know you want to fight but I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose my only son to a man like _Cenred_. Head to Camelot. Don’t look back, and don’t stop.”

He’d taken his father’s advice but couldn’t stop himself - a scared, grieving boy already on the run - from looking back. The last thing he saw of his village was the smoke rising to the sky.

He’d stumbled through wilderness after wilderness with only his heavy heart, a stolen sword and a battered map for company. The fact that he’d gone from that terrified boy to now a _knight_ … Percival shakes his head and drinks deep from his tankard again.

“All right there big guy? We lost you for a moment.”

Percival shakes off his memories and gives Gwaine a wide smile. “I’m fine. Just … thinking.”

Elyan slaps him on the back and slams down another tankard. Leon grumbles into his own, before sighing and wiping foam off his beard. “I can’t believe you talked me into playing cards with you. You’re nothing but a _charlatan_.”

Gwaine grins, unrepentant as he snares his own drink. “Right. Less talking. More drinking. _Lots_ more drinking.”

Percival has no idea what time it is when he staggers out of the tavern, Gwaine a heavy weight against his side. He’s dragging them both and suspects that he might have to pick Gwaine up and carry him because he seems to basically be passed out.

The sky is changing slowly from black to grey and Percival sighs, wincing in advance at the long, torturous day of training that’s bound to be ahead of them once Arthur finds out they’ve all spent the whole night in the tavern.

Percival sighs and shoots a grateful glance at Leon who drops back to take Gwaine’s other arm. Lance and Elyan are well ahead of them, talking quietly together as they all head towards the castle.

Gwaine mutters something and leans heavily on Leon’s arm, making him laugh. “Come on, you. You’re going to need your rest for tomorrow. Er, today,” he amends, glancing at the sky.

“Leon,” Percival says, hesitant. “Once we’ve dropped Gwaine off, can I … talk to you?”

Leon glances at Percival over Gwaine’s head and searches his face for a moment. “Yes, of course. Let’s get madam here tucked away safely first and then I’m all yours.”

They bid good night (or good morning to Lance and Elyan,) settle Gwaine in his room, stripping off his boots and lying him down on his bed. Percival thoughtfully nudges the empty chamberpot to the bedside and takes a deep breath as the first light of day starts lightening the horizon.

He smiles as he gazes at what he can see of the town; out there Owen is curled up in his bed; sleep-warm and waiting. Percival sighs and thinks of the coins he has hidden in his room: so close to being able to buy Owen out of that place and have him only in _Percival’s_ bed.

He shifts his shoulders and glances at Leon, who’s watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“You know what,” he says, quietly. “It’s not important. It’ll keep.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I’m also a little bit drunk and a lot tired.”

Leon claps him on the shoulder at that, glancing back at the bed as Gwaine mutters but doesn’t shift.

“We all are, my friend. I’ll see you on the training grounds tomorrow. I’m sure Arthur has something special planned for us all.”

Percival nods at that, pulling a face at the thought of a long, painful day sparring and training, Arthur’s commands and sarcastic asides already drumming in his ears, and turns towards his own room, his thoughts a tangle of training, his home village and always at the back of his mind, Owen.

He rubs his hand over his head, pausing to get his bearings when the hallway spins a little bit and makes his way carefully in the dark.

**************

Merlin turns over and mutters low curses into his pillow as the sun pierces the thin gap of his window, shining right on to his face. He curses again before dragging himself out of the bed and pulling on his breeches, muttering to himself the whole time.

He’s never been big on this whole morning deal, something that hasn’t changed in his years of service to Arthur, prince of pra - of _Camelot_.

Gaius is sitting at the table in his workroom, eating something steaming out of a bowl. He looks at Merlin and gently pushes a cup across. Merlin sits down and inhales the scent of herbs before taking a cautious sip.

“Mm. Still hot.” His voice is rough but the fog in his head is clearing and he manages to muster up a smile. “Thanks, Gaius.” He snags a piece of bread and an apple before twisting off the bench.

“I’d better get going. Training today, if you need me.”

Gaius nods, offering his own warm smile in return before he turns back to the ancient, battered book of herblore he’s studying.

“Try and stay out of trouble today, Merlin.”

Merlin mutters something as he bites into the apple, heading for Arthur’s rooms.

Staying out of trouble shouldn’t be hard today, surely. The kingdom is quiet. No random magical attacks for oh … weeks now.

It’s a training day, which always puts Arthur in a good mood because it means he’s outside with his knights, engaging in extended physical activity, and not stuck in council meetings with his father all day.

Those are the days that Merlin really needs to be alert to avoid flying objects.

He’s finished both apple and bread before he reaches Arthur’s room. He pushes open the door and pauses, just watching quietly for a moment, waiting for the small, quiet ache in his chest to settle down.

Arthur might be his destiny - and sometimes his curse - but the thing that really trips Merlin up every single day is the fact that he’s silently, pointlessly, desperately in love with the prince of pra - of Camelot.

He tells himself that he just needs time to get over it, for the feeling to pass; that he’s confused duty and loyalty with love and lust, but deep inside, where his baser instincts twist up with his higher feelings, Merlin knows better. He’s done for, turn the spit and roast his heart …. he shakes his head of the foolish notion and manages to refocus his attention on his very own destiny - and maybe his doom.

Arthur’s up and about, wearing nothing but the worn breeches he sleeps in, standing at the window. He looks golden and eternal, the early morning sun washing over his solid, muscular form and Merlin’s helpless before it for a moment, staring.

Then, thankfully, the spell is broken.

“Merlin! There you are! Stop gathering wool like an idiot and get me something to eat! Something _substantial_. It’s going to be a good day.”

Arthur’s grin is nearly feral and Merlin merely snorts and shakes his head before heading down to the kitchen, charming as much food as possible out of the recalcitrant cook.

He moves about Arthur’s chambers quietly, tidying up, getting Arthur’s favoured training garb ready for the day, checking his sword. Occasionally Arthur throws a sarcastic barb in his direction, something that Merlin easily deflects.

He relaxes as they banter back and forth, managing to mostly keep his hands to appropriate places while he helps Arthur into his training armor. (Mostly. And if he slips once in a while and his hand slides over Arthur’s arm, or on the small of his back for just a second, well, Merlin _is_ naturally clumsy after all.)

Arthur and Merlin are first to the training ground and Merlin stands at the side, watching as Arthur warms up with his sword, his arm weaving back and forth and up and down in a complicated, mesmerising arc.

Leon is first down of the knights, like always, looking a little worse for wear. Arthur’s grin when he sees the state of him turns positively evil and even Merlin has to stifle a laugh.

“Rough night, Sir Leon,” Arthur calls, mocking. Leon turns and sighs, gathering a training sword from the pile beside Merlin at the side of the field and heads out, his jaw clenched. “Yes, highness. We were, ah, celebrating Lance and Gwen’s good news. I looked for you to ask you along but you were still with your father …”

Arthur merely rolls his eyes and grins as he directs Leon to pick up a heavy training shield, swinging his own practice sword with ease. Leon bears up bravely, but still can’t hide the first flinch as Arthur’s sword clashes noisily against the shield.

Merlin nearly stumbles when Gwaine somehow sneaks up and nudges him in the shoulder.

“Should’ve come with us, Merlin. It was a great night out.”

Merlin just shakes his head and eyes Leon, grimly holding his own against a determined Arthur.

“No, thanks. I know better than to go drinking with you. What I can’t understand is how the others haven’t learned that lesson yet.”

Gwaine grins, wide and bright and completely unrepentant. “Because, Merlin, unlike you, and your precious princess over there, they have a sense of adventure.”

Merlin sticks his tongue out at Gwaine’s retreating back as he heads onto the field to pair off with Elyan, who seems to be slightly better off than the others.

Lance is patiently putting his squire through his paces and Percival … Merlin frowns and scans the training ground again. Even after a hard night out, Percival is usually one of the first knights out for training. Merlin turns to look at Arthur who’s also looking around the field, frowning.

“Merlin! Go and see what’s keeping Percival. Dump a bucket of water from the well on his head if you have to.”

Merlin sighs and nods, not looking forward to the prospect of dragging the human equivalent - the _hungover_ human equivalent of an oak tree out to training.

However, he keeps that to himself and just nods, before darting back into the castle, heading for Percival’s quarters.

**************

Percival runs. He runs, and runs, his lungs tearing as he pushes them past endurance. His face is wet and his throat is raw. He’s not sure whether he’s been yelling or not. He needs to wake up, because he has to be dreaming he has to - he stops running when he trips over a tree root, stumbling and falling hard on the unforgiving forest floor.

He rolls to his back and stares up at the canopy of branches and leaves and sky, waiting for his heart to slow down, waiting to _wake up_. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but he can feel the sun passing across the sky - the track of the shadows making their silent way over the ground and the trees.

When the first chill of the evening makes Percival shiver, he realises that he’s not dreaming. And that he’s … he sits up, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes until they water.

 _Owen_.

He’s … he’s … Percival’s mind shies away from the word, but stubbornly substitutes _gone_ in its place, as though Owen’s just gone out the door and will be back any moment.

Nonsense. Percival shakes his head and finally studies his surroundings. He’d been aware of falling over a tree, of lying on the forest floor …. he turns his gaze towards Camelot and realises he’s run further from the city than he had thought possible. The battlements of the castle are distant and hazy in the treacherous evening light and Percival blinks and rubs his eyes, his heart a heavy weight in his chest.

He sets his feet towards the citadel, but something makes him pause. If … if Owen is … dead and he’s been … attacked … Percival’s shoulders slump and it’s all he can do not to lie down again. He’ll be blamed. Accused of, of murder and thrown into Camelot’s dungeons. Stripped of his knighthood, his friends, everything …. and - his jaw sets as he straightens up.

If he’s in Camelot’s dungeons accused of Owen’s murder, the _real_ killers will walk around free with Owen’s blood on their hands.

No. He won’t let that happen. He can’t. Running like a coward is no way to honour Owen’s memory but neither is being thrown in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He closes his eyes and conjures up Owen’s face - his laughing brown eyes, and his messy hair, the feel of his hands sliding over Percival’s skin …

Percival’s vision is blurry with tears when he opens his eyes again but his resolve is steel. He will have justice for Owen, and find some kind of peace for his own shattered heart.

He turns away from Camelot and searching for a path through the woods, slips as quietly as he can into the trees.

**************

At first, Merlin can’t process what he’s seeing. Percival’s room is as sparse and tidy as always, and his bed looks like it hasn’t been slept in, but … there’s … a body. On Percival’s bed. His heart gives a sickening lurch before he realises that whoever it is, it’s too short to be Percival.

On closer inspection, Merlin sees that it’s a young boy, no more than 17, and he’s been beaten very badly. Immediately the mystery of who the boy is and what he’s doing here falls away as Merlin moves to deal with the most immediate concern: treatment.

He dashes out of Percival’s room and almost crashes into George.

“George! Please - it’s urgent. Go and fetch Gaius and bring him to Sir Percival’s room. I have to go and get the king.”

To George’s credit all he does is nod before turning and running off and Merlin is thankful he doesn’t have to waste time.

He heads for the training field as fast as he can and shouts for Arthur when he gets there.

There’s a flurry of noise after that - more shouting, the clashing of swords being dropped and then, suddenly - all of them crowded into Percival’s room - silence.

Merlin takes one look at Arthur’s face and goes and busies himself with the body on the bed. Might as well make himself - “Oh my god,” he says quietly. “Gwaine - give me your dagger, quick!”

Merlin holds the small steel blade under the boy’s nose and there -

“He’s still _alive_.”

Arthur frowns at that, and folds his arms. “Gaius - “

“Already on his way,” Merlin says, distracted, as he carefully examines the boy’s limbs.

“Right. So - who is he? And what’s he doing in Percival’s room?”

They’re distracted by Gaius’ arrival who, upon seeing the boy and hearing that he still lives, immediately starts issuing orders.

It falls to Lance to lift the boy from Percival’s bed once Gaius determines he can be safely moved.

“Take him to my chambers, Lance. Merlin, run ahead and prepare a pallet for him. Gwaine - run down to the laundry. I need boiling water, towels and strips of linen. No delaying!”

Gwaine glances at the boy again, and then at Arthur, his expression shuttered. “I’ll be right back,” he says, tapping Elyan on the shoulder to help.

Gaius and Merlin work quickly and quietly on the boy, carefully bandaging and washing his more serious wounds when Gwaine and Elyan return.

Merlin’s vaguely aware, then, of Arthur and the knights in the background, shifting occasionally, but not leaving.

“Does anyone know his name? Anything that might help? Why he might have been in Percival’s room?” Gaius asks eventually, when he and Merlin have cleaned and bandaged as much of the boy as possible. He has a head wound but Gaius probes the skull carefully with gentle fingers and smiles. “Nothing broken there. Now he just needs to rest, and heal.”

“I know him,” Gwaine says, after a short silence. “I … he … works - worked at Agatha’s.”

Leon and Elyan exchange glances, eyebrows rising high.

“The brothel? He’s a …” Leon makes a vague gesture with his hand as Gwaine rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Leon. He’s a whore. Or at least - he was.”

“But - how did he end up in _Percival’s_ room? And not, say, yours? And where _is_ Percival?”

Everyone turns to look at Arthur, who has folded his arms again and is now frowning at Merlin, as if the appearance of badly beaten boys in the castle is somehow his fault. 

Merlin just rolls his eyes and goes back to binding the boy’s ribs. 

“His name is Owen,” Gwaine says. “And he and Percival were, are.... lovers. I mean, it didn’t start out that way but Percival fell for him pretty hard. He’s been working on getting him out of there. He wouldn’t do this. He’d rather cut off his own arm than hurt Owen, I swear.” 

“Then where _is_ he?” Arthur’s tone is pre-emptory and demanding, which strikes Gwaine like flint sparking against tinder. 

“Well I don’t know, princess! I’m guessing that he saw Owen on his bed like that, thought he was _dead_ and - “ 

“Panicked and ran,” Leon finishes, his voice soft.

Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He opens them and automatically seeks out Merlin, still quietly working over the boy - the wh - _Owen’_ body. Merlin looks up, and gives Arthur a small private smile that shouldn’t make Arthur feel better and more in control of himself, but it does.

He sighs and runs one gloved hand through his hair. “I’ll have to tell my father,” he says, reluctantly. 

Uther had been dead against knighting commoners and it had led to some spectacular rows, but Arthur had held his ground. He trusted all of his knights but his round table knights … no man above the other. He sighs and studies the boy again. 

Indeed. 

“Merlin, with me,” he says, his voice sharper than he means. 

He looks to Gaius, even as Merlin tucks the covers around the boy’s prone frame and straightens, ready to follow Arthur into the lion’s den. 

“He’ll be fine, sire. I just need someone to watch him while he’s still unconscious. I can do it but …” 

“We’ll help,” Leon says suddenly. “He was important to Percival, which means that now he’s important to us.” He looks around at the other knights who all nod. Gwaine drags a chair across from the table and settles on it by the pallet, waving the others away. 

“I’ll send for someone else when I get tired.” 

The others nod, and Lance says something about fetching Gwen. “She’ll want to help, too. And to know what’s happened.” 

Arthur nods and breathes out a sigh, feeling obscurely relieved at the - at _his_ knights’ show of support for Percival, even though … he reaches out, tugging on Merlin’s sleeve. “Come on Merlin. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

**************

Gwaine stares down at the pale unconscious boy on the pallet and replays the last time he saw him. Shaking his head, Gwaine reaches out and pushes back Owen’s hair. He looks young - too young to have been doing what he was doing, but from what Kay told him of Owen’s story, Agatha’s is a far better option than starving on the streets.

“Kay!” Gwaine exclaims, turning rapidly to Gaius who’s grinding something with a mortar and pestle. He raises an eyebrow in silent enquiry as Gwaine waves his hand and pushes his own hair back from his head. 

“Kay - he … works with Owen. I uh … know him.” 

Gaius snorts softly and shakes his head. “And you think he might know something about what’s happened?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Kay and Owen are close. If anyone can shed some light, it’s Kay.” 

“Will he come to the castle? I mean, he might be deeper in whatever this is than you realise.” 

Gwaine finds a grin somewhere, even as his heart turns over. “I know, but I _also_ know that he’ll do anything for Owen. I’ll get Elyan to sit with Owen and go to Agatha’s. Plus … to be honest, Gaius, I’d be happier if he were under our protection right now. I don’t want - “ 

Gaius waves a hand and brings whatever he’s been mixing over to Owen’s pallet. “Go. Bring the boy back here and then tell Arthur, when he’s done with his father.” 

Gwaine nods, but lingers for a moment. 

“Something else, Gwaine?” 

“I just … Percival really loves Owen. I mean - he was saving money to get him out of the brothel, he was making plans - I know it’s hard to believe because I’m the only one who saw them together, but I can’t believe that Percival could have done this, Gaius. He - “ 

Gaius rests a hand on Gwaine’s arm, giving it a reassuring pat. “I’m sure the truth - whatever it is - will come out. For what it’s worth, Gwaine, I don’t believe Percival to be capable of this kind of violence. Especially not against someone you say he cares so deeply for.” 

Gwaine nods and sighs as he pushes a hand through his hair in confusion. 

“What I can’t understand - where is he? I know he wouldn’t have done this, if he knew Owen was hurt …” 

“Well, it’s only speculation on my part,” Gaius says as he moves slowly around Owen, checking his bandages and carefully unwinding one that’s stained a dark red. Gwaine waits as Gaius carefully replaces the bandage with the paste of herbs and winds the linen again “ - but if Percival thought Owen _was_ dead when he saw him … well, he might have -” 

“Run,” Gwaine says softly, his eyes on Owen. “If he thought he was going to be accused … and let’s face it, Uther has no love for Arthur’s Round Table, so it’s not that much of a stretch …” 

Gwaine sighs and rolls his shoulders, feeling some tension leach out. “All I know is that Percival is incapable of hurting Owen. He couldn’t have done this, Gaius.” 

Gaius nods, distracted again as Owen moves on the pallet, but doesn’t wake up. 

“Go and talk to this Kay of yours. I’ll examine the boy again and talk to Merlin when he comes back. We’ll get to the bottom of it Gwaine.”

**************

Arthur strides along the castle corridors, feeling a headache forming at the base of his skull. He can hear Merlin behind him, his breath puffing out as he scrambles to keep up. They’re of a height but Merlin is a natural ambler, so when Arthur is inclined to put on speed, he tends to get left behind.

He stops and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve some of the pressure in his head. 

Merlin stops beside him and Arthur turns, leaning against the wall. 

“Headache?” Merlin asks, reaching out to touch Arthur’s forehead, like he can soothe it away. 

Arthur remembers just in time that there’s a stone wall behind him, so he doesn’t jerk back and hit his head. He does raise his eyebrows, and waits. “Did you mistake me for one of the stable cats, or a girl, Merlin? I don’t need you _petting_ me!” 

Merlin jerks away then, like his hand is on fire. “I - sorry. It’s just you look so - “ 

Arthur sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. 

“It may have escaped your notice, _Merlin_ but I have a lot on my mind at the moment!” 

He feels vaguely guilty for snapping but Merlin just steps back and spreads out his hands in a placating gesture. “I know. I know what’s at stake for you, Arthur. I’m - sorry.” 

“Just. Keep your distance, Merlin, all right? Please.” 

Arthur waits until Merlin nods before striding down the corridor again. The sooner he gets this over with, the better. 

It goes about as well as he expects it to. There’s shouting at first, and Arthur can’t miss the fleeting gleeful expression on Uther’s face. 

“It just _proves_ , Arthur, that you cannot trust something as important as a knighthood to mere _commoners_. This is the risk you run! What of your precious … round table now?” 

Arthur clenches his teeth and grinds them together, trying to find the best way to word it. “Father … that _round table_ that you … dismiss … any one of those men would die for Camelot. Would die for me. Or for you. I know you have issues with not all of them being nobles but to be honest – they are the most noble men that I have ever met. I’ve fought beside them, and with them, and I cannot reward such loyalty to Camelot by dismissing them out of hand!” 

He takes a deep breath when he realises his voice is spiralling upwards and nearly out of control. Shouting at this juncture won’t help anyone – it certainly won’t help Percival at all. Arthur resists the urge to pinch his nose again, the headache now roaring through his skull and making it hard for him to think. 

Uther stares at him for a long, weighted minute. “You will not give them up? Even with all this … “ he makes a wide gesture with one hand. 

“It would take a lot more than this for me to give them up,” Arthur says, surprised to find his voice so steady. “They are my knights. I’ve trained them, I’ve fought with them, I’m the one who invested them with knighthoods. I will not turn my back on – on any of them.” 

“Very well,” Uther says, returning his attention to the parchments on the table. “That … Percival, however, Arthur – he’s a danger to you and your precious round table. Find him, and have him executed,” Uther says then, almost off hand, turning his attention back to the papers covering the table. 

“Father - “ 

“No, Arthur! He’s a murderer and he consorts with - _men_. We cannot have men like that running loose and making Camelot looking weak. Take the dogs. Find him, and bring him back to meet his fate.” 

Arthur stirs, wanting to say something, aware of Merlin right behind him, so close that Arthur can feel the drift of breath on the back of his neck. He looks at his father’s face, sees nothing but steel resolve, and sighs. 

“Yes, father. Of course.” He turns and tilts his head at Merlin who follows him out of the chamber silently, but still close on his heels. He expects Merlin to start bombarding him with questions and arguments as soon as they leave Uther’s presence, but he’s abnormally, unnaturally quiet. 

Eventually Arthur can’t take it and stops, twirling on his heel. “All right, Merlin. Out with it. I expected you to be shouting at me or lecturing me by now. What is it?” 

Merlin frowns and chews briefly on his bottom lip. “It’s just - there’s something not right. Not just that I don’t think Percival’s a cold-blooded murderer, because I don’t, and that there’s nothing wrong with, you know, men being with other men - it’s just … something’s not right, Arthur.” 

Arthur blinks as he processes Merlin’s words, filtering through what he considers to just be Merlin-chatter to get to the point of what he’s saying. 

“Merlin whatever it is, make it quick. Because if I don’t leave soon, my father will want to know why.” 

“I know! I know, Arthur, I just … I need to talk to Gaius. We need to examine Owen again. Something isn’t right.” 

_“There’s a lot about this that isn’t _right_ , Merlin. I’m going to the kennels to get the dogs. If you see Sir Leon, tell him to meet me there. We’ll move faster if there’s only two of us.” _

“But I should - “ 

Arthur reaches out slowly, resting a hand on Merlin’s arm. “No. Not this time. We’ll be all right, Merlin. You stay here, work with Gaius. If you’re right, I’d rather not condemn an innocent man to the gallows - regardless of who he sleeps with.” 

Merlin sighs, and lingers, reluctant to leave Arthur’s side. “I – all right. Well done, by the way,” Merlin says, almost shy. “Back there with Uther – I was… proud of you for standing up for the knights like that. I know it can’t have been easy.” 

Arthur just gives a tight nod, and turns sharply, heading down the corridor towards the stables, doing his best to ignore the warm feeling spreading through his chest. Whatever it is, now is not the time.

**************

Owen is dreaming. He is four years old and is sitting on a rickety wooden stool, laughing as he helps his mother roll out bread dough. She has streaks of flour on her face as she guides Owen’s small hands through the dough, her voice a rising and falling cadence.

_Mummy Owen asks, looking out the window, who’s that man?_

In Gaius’ room, Owen stirs and mutters as the shadow of one of his tormentors appears at his mother’s window in his dream. He stills and shifts, reaching out to something unseen.

**************

Merlin makes his way back to Gaius’ room as fast as he can, meeting Leon’s squire on the way, dispatching him with Arthur’s message. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. He can feel his thoughts unravelling - spinning out in all directions and he stops to take a breath. It’s not going to help anyone - especially not Percival - if Merlin can’t gather his thoughts enough to articulate what he thinks might have happened to the boy in Gaius’ room.

Merlin frowns as he starts walking again, his pace slightly slower. If Percival had … hurt Owen, as unlikely as Gwaine said it was, and if it had happened in his own room … why wasn’t there more damage? Chairs turned over, bowls broken - _something_. But the room was as orderly as Merlin had ever seen it, and according to Gwaine, the knights had all gone out the night before to the tavern and so … 

“The _bruises!_ ” Merlin exclaims out loud, breaking into a sudden run. 

He makes his way to Gaius’ chambers as fast as he can, and he’s out of breath by the time he bursts through the door. 

Gaius raises both eyebrows in shock and Gwaine - who has to step back as Merlin bursts through the door - blinks in surprise at Merlin’s sudden appearance. 

“What the hell, Merlin?” 

Merlin waves a hand as he bends over, winded from his headlong race through the castle. 

“Sorry. Thought. Of. Something. That. Could. Help. Percival.” 

“Here, my boy - drink this. Slow breaths, that’s it.” 

Merlin accepts the cup gratefully from Gaius’ hand and takes a long, slow drink of water. 

“Better?" 

He flashes Gaius a quick, bright smile. “Yes, much. Thanks, Gaius.” 

Gwaine watches the exchange between Merlin and Gaius with barely concealed impatience. 

“You were saying ...” 

“Oh right! Owen! The bruises!” 

It’s Gwaine’s turn to raise his eyebrows but he waits for Merlin to explain. 

“You all went out last night, yes? To the tavern.” 

“Yeees but - “ 

“When did you get back to the castle?” 

Gwaine frowns as Owen stirs and mutters on the pallet, causing Gaius to lean over him, checking him over carefully. 

“He’s just dreaming. Means he’s sleeping normally. Go on, Gwaine.” 

“Uh … close to dawn, I think. Yeah - the sky was getting light.” 

“Which means that Percival wouldn’t even have seen Owen until then if he was with you all night. And if he … attacked Owen then - Percival’s room isn’t that isolated. Someone would have heard _something_. But Percival’s room looks exactly the same as it always does.” 

Gaius and Gwaine frown, and exchange a cautious, weighted look. 

Gwaine studies his friend’s face closely. “There’s something else, isn’t there? There has to be, because that’s just …. circumstances that can be explained away.” 

Merlin nods and makes his way carefully to the edge of the bed. 

“There is. The bruises.” 

Gaius exclaims loudly enough to make Merlin and Gwaine jump, and for Owen to shift on the bed, frown lines on his face. They all wait but he settles and sleeps on, though the frown remains. 

“Of course. I should have thought of that myself. Well done, Merlin,” Gaius says, missing the pleased flush of red on Merlin’s ears as he turns back to the bed to re-examine Owen’s body, frowning and muttering over the dark purple marks on his arms. 

“Can someone enlighten me, then?” Gwaine asks, his tone irritated as he shifts restlessly on his feet, like he wants desperately to be somewhere else. 

"You were all at the tavern that night until nearly dawn,” Merlin explains. 

“Arthur had you all out on the training field, what, two or three hours later?” 

_Gwaine nods, not taking his eyes off Merlin’s face._

“Well. If. If - Percival had … done this. His room would be a huge mess because even with Percival being so much bigger, Owen would have fought back, would have shouted … and then I thought of the bruises.” 

“Indeed,” Gaius says, his voice distracted. “You are quite right Merlin. These bruises on his arms and his ribs are too old to have been made by Percival. See here where they’re already fading … and here. I’ve seen many kinds of injuries over the years. Really should have seen this myself. Well _done_ my boy!” 

Merlin flushes under Gaius’ praise but then bites his lip. “That clears Percival but … Arthur and Leon - they’ll already be out of the city - Uther sent them to find Percival and bring him back to Camelot. To, to be executed.” 

“They can’t find him,” Gwaine says decisively. “The woods are big and there are places a man can get absolutely _lost_ , right?” 

Merlin sighs and pushes a hand through his hair suddenly feeling old beyond his years. “Yes, but Arthur and Leon are the best trackers in Camelot. And Percival doesn’t exactly have a lot of woodscraft …” 

“He needs a diversion,” Gaius says unexpectedly from Owen’s bedside. “Something that will distract Arthur and Leon and give Percival long enough to hide for a while. Long enough that we can absolutely clear his name, anyway.” 

Merlin pushes his mouth out in a frustrated moue and frowns. “If he were _here_ I could show him Owen’s bruises, he’d understand that. But now he’ll be intent on the hunt …” 

Merlin shivers as his own words prickle over his skin. 

“Percival needs more time. He’s going to need more evidence than a tidy room and some fading bruises.” 

“Right now, Merlin, what he needs is a diversion. May I suggest that you … go and see what you can …. come up with?” 

Merlin states blankly at Gaius for a moment before his gaze swings back to Gwaine. 

“I. Er. Right. Yes. I’ll … go and um. See what I can do.” 

Gwaine says nothing but shakes his head and snorts softly as Merlin goes racing out of Gaius’ rooms and hurtles himself up spiralling stone steps, heading for the battlements of the castle. 

He has to stop Arthur and Leon before they reach Percival’s trail, otherwise there’s nothing he can do to shift Percival’s fate.

Leon shows up at the kennels just as Arthur’s leashing the last dog. Wordlessly he hands Leon one of the leashes and they both settle onto their horses.

**************

Arthur stares up at the sky, which is cloudy and the wind is blowing cold, but he can’t feel any rain in the air. The hounds are straining on their leashes, eager for a run and Arthur plans to give them their head once they reach the forest. 

“Let’s go,” he says to Leon. “He’s had enough of a head start.” 

“Yes, Sire.” 

Leon’s presence is like a balm to Arthur’s ricocheting thoughts. He’s silent and steady, leaving Arthur to focus on the task at hand - and what might be coming next. 

He sighs as he settles into the saddle, waiting for his churning thoughts to settle on their own. He doesn’t know what to make of the whole thing. He can admit to himself that he’s … uncomfortable with the idea of Percival being - involved - with another man. 

His father has had nothing for derision for such men the whole of Arthur’s life. He’s sneered and called them cowards and dandies, no more use on the battlefield than the whores that follow the camps and he’s always been ruthless in rooting them out of his army and out of Camelot. 

Arthur had never thought about it much. If asked, he would have said he agreed with his father. But _Percival_ … he’s certainly no coward, and as for being a ‘dandy’ …. if the situation wasn’t so grave, Arthur would smile at the idea of Percival dressing up in fussy clothes and mincing about the castle. 

And then Merlin … he hadn’t known about Percival and Owen, that much was clear, but he also wasn’t surprised, or disgusted. Just … concerned for the boy. And for Arthur himself, his blue, blue eyes wide in his face … Arthur mentally snaps his thoughts away from that particular track. That can never lead anywhere. 

He ignores the hollow feeling it leaves behind in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he forces his mind to turn to the task at hand. 

Arthur sighs again and pulls his hood up as the skies open. Leon draws up beside him and squints up into the thickening rain. 

He absently tugs on the leash of his hound as he turns to Arthur, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. 

Arthur bites his lip and considers. They could go back to Camelot, get warm and dry, because the rain - heavier and heavier with every passing moment - is likely to obliterate any useful tracks. But then his father … 

He waves his free hand towards the forest. “We go on. Uther will expect us to exhaust all possibilities, even in this weather.” 

Leon nods but says nothing, huddling under his cloak as best he can, a bright slash of red against the grey gloom of the day. 

Arthur winds the leash of his hound tight around his hand and urges his horse forward, into the thickening rain, trusting that Leon is behind him.

**************

Owen is dreaming. He shifts, restless on the pallet in Gaius’ room. He’s close to waking but not so close that his dreams can’t still find him.

He can feel a cool hand on his forehead – water on a cloth – and a woman’s voice; pitched low and soothing. He frowns because the woman seems to be talking to him but he can’t answer her. 

Because he is dreaming. 

This time, he’s dreaming of the brothel. It’s not his first night there, nor his last. It is, however, a life-changing night: he is dreaming of the night he meets Percival for the first time. 

He’s with Kay, in the common room downstairs, just to the left of the entrance. The ‘shop window’ as Kay calls it with a slightly bitter twist to his mobile mouth. 

This night, he’s half-draped over Owen, and they’re both languid with heat and boredom; waiting for … something. Anything. 

Owen murmurs something in his sleep, but calms when the cool hand on his forehead filters through his dreams again. 

Percival. He’d come to the brothel that first time – and every other time after that – with Gwaine. But after that first night, he came for Owen. 

Came _back_ for Owen, week after week. In his sleep, in his pain, Owen curls up and sighs softly, settling onto the pallet as the memory of Percival winds around him like a blanket, offering comfort in his world suddenly gone wild.

**************

Percival thinks, as he pushes through the trees, that he should be trying to mask his path. That someone – possibly Arthur – will come after him, and if it is Arthur, he has no chance of hiding.

Then, just as he’s thinking of retracing his steps, the skies open up. 

He’s soaked to the skin immediately, lashed about with heavy rain and driving, pitiless winds. He stands still, opens his arms to it, and roars his grief to the indifferent, black sky. 

It makes him feel better, lighter, for a precious short moment. Percival sucks in a deep, cold breath and runs his hand over his head. The rain hasn’t lessened. If anything, it’s raining harder. 

He needs shelter. A hiding place. Somewhere close to Camelot but that he won’t be found … Percival turns into the driving rain, squinting around him before heading towards what looks in the gathering gloom like a large rock fall. 

_It is, and there’s a gap that he shouldn’t be able to fit through – it’s narrow and he holds his breath and scrapes his skin, not noticing when the rain washes away faint red traces from grazes on his skin coming off as he pushes through to a large – and more importantly at the moment - _dry_ cave._

The floor of the cave is covered with more rocks, and packed dirt. Percival picks a large, flat rock and sits down, burying his head in his hands, oblivious to the shivers racking his body and the tears coursing down his face. 

He can breathe, finally. The rain outside is already washing away any trace of his passing and he’s dry, if not warm. He supposes he should try and light a fire, see if there’s anything he can get even a small blaze going with. 

Instead, Sir Percival, Knight of the Round Table of Camelot, former son of farmers and a man capable of loving deeply and long, sits in the cold and in the dark, drawing up memories of Owen, like lancing poison from a snake bite.

They met because of Gwaine. He’d been long and shamelessly singing the praises of Agatha’s brothel, exhorting the other knights, Merlin – and even once or twice – Arthur – to visit with him.

Leon’s gone along a few times, blushing to the roots of his hair when he endured the other knights’ teasing, and Arthur’s disapproving looks after. Lance had only ever had eyes for Gwen, and as for Elyan … he’d gone about the same number of times as Leon, until the youngest daughter of one of Camelot’s noble families had caught his eye. 

Despite his being born a commoner, the family approved the match – they had three other daughters to marry off, and as one of the knights of Prince Arthur, Elyan’s personal status wasn’t in question. 

Which left Percival for Gwaine to corrupt, as he put it, cheerfully and shamelessly. 

Percival had just … blushed and not said anything. 

“Come onnn Percival, please come with me? It’s much more fun than me going on my own. The girls, man, the _girls_ …” 

Percival blushed and stammered as they made their way to Gwaine’s room, Gwaine leaning heavily on Percival’s shoulder. 

“I, er … I don’t – “ He didn’t know how to broach the subject – how to say out loud to Gwaine that girls weren’t really … but somehow Gwaine – who has scarily good instincts for someone who’s idea of a great time is spending whole _days_ marinating in ale – catches Percival’s discomfort. However, he just grins wider. 

“There are also a couple of lovely boys there, my very large friend, if that’s where your inclinations lie.” He's lowered his voice instinctively, everyone knows what Uther thinks of men who lie with other men … 

“I – “ Percival hesitates on the verge of saying no; of denying that Gwaine’s right. But it’s been so very long since he’s been with _anyone_ and there’s a difference between taking yourself in hand on cold, long nights and …

“All right. But – you can’t, you can’t _tell_ anyone.” 

Gwaine’s expression turns serious as they stop outside the door to his chambers. He rests a hand on Percival’s shoulder and offers up a small smile. 

“Don’t worry about that,” he says quietly. “All right? Day after tomorrow. We’ll head down after dinner. Oh, better make sure you’ve got coin on you, too.” 

Percival rolls his eyes but he nods and waits until Gwaine has shut his door behind him before heading to his own rooms. 

He’s … excited. Nervous of course, because the last time Uther had caught two men together – a nobleman of the court with one of his knights – he’d banished both men and seized all of their properties without hesitation. 

But _gods_ the thought of someone else’s hands on his skin … on his …. he shakes his head as he pushes open the door to his own room. He’d never considered paying for the privilege of … intimacy with another person, but now … Percival changes for bed, forgoing calling for his squire, craving privacy over any human interaction as he feels anticipation start to buzz under his skin. 

The brothel looks like an ordinary home in the more upmarket part of Camelot. It’s large and rambling and from the outside, looks like nothing so much as the respectable manor of a wealthy family. 

Inside, however, it’s a different story. 

They’re greeted by a woman who looks to be in her early 30s – well-groomed and well-presented. She introduces herself as Agatha, the owner of the establishment, and leads them into a large, well-lit room. 

Percival has the overall impression of many couches and chairs; of girls lounging about, looking at the men who have just entered with professional interest. 

A few sit up straight at the sight of Gwaine and Percival, and Percival can feel his ears going red. Until, that is, Gwaine nudges him and points towards a chair in a slightly shadowed corner. 

There are two boys on the chair, sitting close together. One is looking at both himself and Gwaine with bold and frank appraisal before he grins at Gwaine and winks, nudging the boy beside him. 

He had been lying with his head tipped back, his eyes closed, so that Percival’s first view of Owen is of his neck, a pale expanse of skin that he can already feel his fingers twitching to touch. 

The other boy says something to make him open his eyes and lift his head. 

Percival has never been struck by lightning; never had anything happen to him that just makes him … stop in his tracks. But the moment the boy – who he will soon be introduced to as Owen – opens his eyes, Percival is struck. Struck, and gone. 

He takes an involuntary step forward, before Gwaine’s hand on his arm reminds him of where they are. 

“Easy, big man. Let’s get the sordid details out of the way first. Then we can have some fun …” 

Percival nods, without looking back at Gwaine. He watches, his mouth sand-dry as both boys untangle themselves from the chair and move towards them. He’s vaguely aware of the other boy – Kay – he hears Gwaine call him – wind his arms around Gwaine’s neck, laughing; and the clink of coins into the hands of the brothelkeeper. He fumbles for his purse, flushing as the other boy stands in front of him, his hands loose at his sides and his lashes sweeping down over his cheeks as he blinks slowly, once, and then again. 

Gwaine makes an amused sort of noise at his side and relieves him of his purse, tucking it back on to Percival’s belt, several coins lighter. 

“Off you go, big man. You’re paid up through the night.” 

Percival nods, and then realises that he should perhaps say something. 

He’s rescued, by the boy in front of him. “My name’s Owen,” he says, his voice soft and pitched low. “My room is upstairs. If you’d like to follow me …” 

And that’s how it started. With Percival stumbling after Owen like a clumsy teenager just coming into his first growth. 

That first night, they mostly talk, tucked up close together on Owen’s narrow bed, as though they’ve known each other their whole lives, and not just met by chance. 

Towards the end of the night, just before dawn begins to tease at the sky, Percival takes Owen for the first time, his eyes wide in wonder as he presses in, feeling _slick-tight-hot_ around him, and Owen’s fingers digging into his arms. 

They lie together, tangled up in arms and legs and racing hearts until someone bangs on the door, that their time is up and time in this place actually is _money_. 

“When will you come back?” Owen asks, as Percival searches the room for his breeches and his shirt, fastening on his cloak. 

“If it were up to me, I would take you with me now,” Percival replies, stroking a thumb over Owen’s cheek. “But for now …. I will be back at the same time next week.” 

Owen bites his bottom lip – already red and swollen, a temptingly innocent gesture. 

“I promise,” Percival says quietly, feeling Owen nod against his hand. 

Percival kneels by the bed, heedless of the even louder knocking. 

“Owen,” he says, pausing until Owen raises his eyes. “I promise you, I will be back next week, and the week after that and after that, until I can afford to take you away from this. I don’t – I don’t care what you do, I don’t care that this is how we met, or that I only met you yesterday … I can’t –“ 

Owen cuts him off, kissing him deep and hard on his mouth. Percival groans and returns it with fervour, tangling his hand in Owen’s hair. 

“They’re going to break down the door,” Owen whispers, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Percival grins and shakes his head. “Then I had better go. I … I’ll see you next week.”

Percival doubles over as his stomach cramps and he heaves, stumbling to a corner by the door just in time to expel the contents of his stomach – mostly ale and bile, that burns at the back of his throat.

He collapses back against the cave wall, and scrubs at his face, drawing in deep, harsh breaths until his stomach calms and he can try to think. 

He carefully puts his memories of Owen away as far as he can – at the moment, they hurt more than they help. He closes his eyes, though, and deliberately conjures Owen’s face: the thick riot of brown curls on his head, the way his eyes would spark with mischief or sheer _joy_ , the way he would gasp and stutter broken words into Percival’s ear when they were joined, his voice always shattering at the last moment, the way he would talk with his hands, getting excited or impassioned about something or anything, until Percival would catch them in his own, encompassing them and kissing the palm. 

Percival breathes again, deep and slow, before sinking to the floor. 

Someone has taken the most precious thing he has ever had in his life. They have taken his love, and one way or another, they _will_ pay. 

With that thought – after hours of raging at the sky and crying more tears than he thought the human body could contain – Percival is able to sleep. He stays where he is, leaning against the wall and lets his eyes slide closed, letting the drumming sound of the rain wash over him and temporarily give him peace.

**************

Merlin stands on the battlements of the castle, shivering and soaked to the skin, but not moving. He hopes it will be enough. It will have to be enough, because he daren’t challenge nature any further than he already has.

The rain is heavy enough to wash away tracks and surely even Arthur won’t be able to find anything in this storm. 

Merlin grips the stone in front of him hard, letting it bite into his hand and ground him back to the world. 

Please,” he whispers, hardly aware of having said anything. “Just … long enough. Just long enough for the trail to be obscured. That’s all I need.” 

He feels weak, suddenly and leans against a thick buttress, closing his eyes. He’s freezing and soaked through, but nearly oblivious to the rain. His thoughts jumble and blur, and he has no idea how long he’s been standing there until he can hear someone shouting his name. 

Merlin blinks his eyes open slowly, and frowns. It’s still raining somewhat but it’s not the thick, black storm of earlier. He feels a shiver wrack through him and looks up to find Lance watching him, his eyebrows raised. 

“Oh. Lance. I was just …” 

Lance raises a hand, grinning. “Whatever it is, Merlin, I don’t need to know. But you’ve been gone for what feels like hours and Gaius was worried. He asked me to come and look for you.” 

__“Right.” Merlin blinks again, and shakes his head, pushing himself off the castle wall. He grimaces as he shivers again, and his legs feel weak. Wordlessly Lance moves to help, propping Merlin’s slight frame easily against his side._ _

__“Um. Is … are Arthur and Leon back yet?”_ _

__“Rode into the courtyard a few minutes ago. Looking like drowned rats. Come on, let’s get you to Gaius. The last thing he needs is another patient on his hands.”_ _

__“Er. Right. I didn’t think of that, I was – I wonder – “_ _

__“Arthur and Leon were alone, Merlin,” Lancelot says gently as he helps him down the steps. “Whatever you were doing with the rain, it worked. Percival is still free. Well, for now …”_ _

__Merlin turns on the landing and studies his friend. “Do you think … do you …”_ _

__Lance shakes his head, and prods Merlin in the direction of Gaius’ chambers. “No, Merlin, I don’t think Percival did this. I don’t believe he’s capable of hurting anyone, let alone someone that he loves.”_ _

__“And the fact that Owen is …”_ _

__“Male?” Lancelot shrugs as they turn down the corridor containing Gaius’ rooms. “I know what Uther thinks of it. For myself … love is love, Merlin. And I don’t see how that can ever be wrong.”_ _

__Merlin grins at that as Lance opens the door, his face lighting up when he sees Gwen there, sitting in a chair by Owen’s bed._ _

__Lance crosses the room as she stands up, one hand absently on her still only slightly curved stomach. Lance covers her hand with his own and rests his forehead against hers._ _

__Merlin feels something twist up and knot inside of himself as he watches. He sighs and rubs his hand over his eyes. There are more pressing things to deal with than the fact he sleeps alone at night and is likely to do for the rest of his life._ _

__“How is he?” he asks Gaius when the old physician moves to sit on Owen’s other side, lifting the blankets to check his ribs and bandages._ _

__“He’s doing fine,” Gaius says. “Now it’s just a matter of time, really, before he wakes up. Gwaine’s gone back to the brothel,” Gaius continues, raising a hand in a vague gesture as Lance and Gwen make to leave. Merlin turns and flashes a brief smile at Lance, even as he reaches for a thick square of linen, warming by the fireplace. He strips his soaking shirt off and gratefully rubs the warm towel over his torso, turning his back to do the same with his boots and breeches, quietly whispering a drying spell over his clothes, so he can put them straight back on._ _

__“Better?” Gaius asks as Merlin comes to take the seat Gwen had vacated._ _

__“Much,” he says, nodding._ _

__“You were saying something about Gwaine?”_ _

__“Hm? Oh, yes. Gwaine’s gone back to the brothel. He seems to think that another boy who works there might know what happened to Owen – he’s bringing him back here.”_ _

__Merlin nods, feeling his eyes threaten to close as exhaustion washes through him. He lifts his head as the door opens and Elyan comes in, glancing at the bed, then looking at Merlin._ _

__“Arthur’s looking for you,” he says._ _

__Merlin groans but stands up, stretching. “He’ll be wanting help to change. And a bath, probably. And he’ll be wanting someone to shout at. Well, I suppose I’d better get going.”_ _

__“Tell him that Owen is doing better, and we’re just waiting for him to wake up – if he asks,” Gaius says, and Merlin nods, sighing as he indulges in a moment of self-pity. What he’d _really_ like is a quiet, extended nap and a hot cup of Gaius’ herbal tea. What he’s going to get, however, is shouted at, probably for quite some time. Possibly also things thrown at him._ _

__However, when he gets to Arthur’s chambers, Merlin’s heart betrays him again, when he sees how wet and bedraggled Arthur is. He’s standing by the fireplace, muttering at the cold and empty grate, the fire Merlin had lit early that morning long gone out._ _

__He turns and frowns when he hears Merlin enter and sighs, stepping back from the mantle._ _

__“Get this fire going, Merlin, while I change. It’s _freezing_ in here. Then I’m going to have to go and tell my father that Leon and I failed to find anything, thanks to that blasted rain.”_ _

__Merlin merely nods and makes a show of gathering small pieces of wood from the basket by the fireplace as Arthur retreats behind his screen to change. Merlin whispers a word over the wood and soon has a blaze going that warms the cold stones of the room._ _

__Arthur comes back out, rubbing a square of threadbare linen over his hair, and all Merlin can do for a moment is stare. Arthur’s changed into a blue linen shirt and plain brown breeches, the laces at his throat are undone, framing his collarbones and the dip in his throat, making Merlin’s own throat close up and his insides curl with _want_._ _

__He swallows hard against, because now is not the time or the place – it will never be the time or the place – and Arthur needs him to be – well, not that, anyway, however much Merlin – and his traitorous magic – might wish things to be different._ _

__Arthur breaks the spell and the odd tension when he flicks at Merlin with his still-damp towel._ _

__“ Stop wool-gathering, Merlin. You look more vacant than usual, if that’s possible. Come on – Leon should be ready by now – “_ _

__There’s a quiet knock at the door of Arthur’s room, and Merlin gratefully uses the excuse to get away from Arthur’s proximity for a moment, absently dropping the towel on the floor, barely registering Arthur’s exasperated “ _Merlin_!” as he opens it to find Leon waiting._ _

__Arthur strides across the room to the door, nodding quietly at his knight._ _

__“Do you want me to come with you?” Merlin asks quietly._ _

__Arthur sighs and runs a hand through his still-damp hair, making it stick up and unknowingly making Merlin’s fingertips twitch._ _

__“No … stay here and for god’s sake Merlin tidy this room, I don’t want to come back to this mess.”_ _

__“This mess that you made,” Merlin argues, unable to help himself, rewarded when Arthur just rolls his eyes._ _

__“Oh before you go – I know Uther won’t ask but I thought you’d like to know – Gaius says that Owen is doing fine, and it’s just a matter of time before he wakes up.”_ _

__Arthur’s expression shutters immediately but Leon smiles. “That is good news. We’ll pass it on to the king.”_ _

__Merlin smiles, feeling suddenly exhausted and drained as he pushes the door shut behind Arthur and Leon. He rubs at his eyes, tired and sore, until his vision blurs slightly and then sighs before bending his mind to the most mundane task of all: tidying up after Arthur.Arthur strides down the corridor, his steps echoing on the stone. He doesn’t need to look to see if Leon is beside him, he matches Arthur’s stride easily._ _

**************

__Like always, Leon’s presence is soothing to Arthur’s roiling thoughts, unlike Merlin who can set Arthur’s thoughts going in seven different directions with one careless word, and right now – about to face his father with his failure – what Arthur needs is calm._ _

__Merlin, he knows, will understand and not take offence. He’ll grumble all day long about having to clean up Arthur’s room, but that’s as far as any of it will go._ _

__Arthur stops for a moment and sighs, stretching out the tension building in his shoulders._ _

__“It’s hard to believe that it’s still the same day,” he says almost to himself, glancing out a window. The storm has passed and the sun is setting, taking its time to paint the sky shades of red and orange as it goes down._ _

__Leon makes a soft noise of agreement, before tapping on the heavy door. “I know what you mean,” he says quietly as the door swings slowly open. “It feels like it’s been weeks.”_ _

__Arthur nods, and fixes a blank, neutral expression on his face before forcing himself to stride into his father’s chambers with a confidence he doesn’t feel._ _

__As he meets Uther’s stony gaze, he has to resist the urge to rub at his eyes, suddenly tired and feeling full of grit. It’s been a long, long day, and now it’s shaping up to be an even longer night._ _

__Much as he wants to, delaying the inevitable won’t help anyone in the long run, so Arthur, with his faithful lieutenant at his side, steps forward to report their failure._ _

__“You … lost his trail?” Uther says, frowning._ _

__“Not exacty, father. We never picked up on his trail. The rain made sure of that.”_ _

__Uther raises an eyebrow and glances out the window where the rain is easing off._ _

__“If I may, Sire,” Leon says respectfully, “The rain was very heavy, and Arthur spent far more time trying to find Percival’s trail than anyone else I know would have …” Uther turns his steady, steely gaze on Leon who merely stands tall and solid by Arthur’s side, meeting Uther’s eyes._ _

__“So – you’ve lost him. He could be anywhere by now. A known killer and a consorter with men. Not your best day, Arthur.”_ _

__Arthur grinds his teeth together and sketches a brief bow that Uther doesn’t see._ _

__“Sorry, father,” he says, quietly before leading Leon back out of the room._ _

__There doesn’t seem to be any more that he can say.__

**************

Kay can’t stop shaking, no matter what he does. He reluctantly directs the thugs to Percival’s room, his eyes on Owen’s slight, too-still frame as they move quickly and silently through the empty citadel. Owen hasn’t moved. One of the thugs has thrown him over his shoulder, like he would a sack of grain, and all Kay can do is stare at the body of his friend, swaying and bumping along. 

_  
_Owen is – left – in Percival’s room, and Kay holds his breath because the thugs are about to turn their attention to him when they hear voices down another corridor, but coming closer._  
_

__“Back to the whorehouse _boy_ ,” the lead thug snarls in his face, giving Kay full view of his mouth, rotten and broken teeth and all. “And nothing to _no one_. Tell herself that the boy bolted before you got to us, or something. That you think he was going for the castle, looking for that knight of his.”_ _

__They’re outside the castle walls now, and the thug grabs Kay’s upper arm squeezing it painfully. Kay grits his teeth and tears flood his eyes but he stays upright and stares the thug straight in the eye._ _

__Seeing what had happened to Owen has given him an odd, wild kind of courage and he grins and would spit in the thug’s eye if his mouth weren’t so very dry._ _

__“You. Hear. Me. _Boy?_ ”_ _

__Kay licks his lips and considers doing it anyway. But Kay was born and raised in the house he works in now. From an early age his mother had taught him to fight when he needed to fight, and run when he needed to run._ _

__Now, he feels, isn’t the time to fight. He’ll end up just as dead as Owen, and Percival will likely have two false accusations on his head._ _

__“I hear you,” he says, eventually, not taking his eyes off the thug’s face._ _

__“Good.” The thug shoves him roughly away, so he lands on his hands and knees in the dirt, to the harsh sound of laughter._ _

__“Now bugger off, boy. Go and earn some of that good coin, pay off a slice more of Bran’s debt. Stupid little whore.”_ _

__Kay stays down, his head hanging low, until he can catch his breath. The thugs are still there, and one of them will no doubt tail him back to Agatha’s to make sure he doesn’t make a run for it._ _

__For a moment, he feels trapped, his throat clogged. He closes his eyes and an image of Owen comes to mind, the morning after the first night he’d spent with Percival. His face is alight as he curls up on Kay’s bed, his hands going everywhere as he talks about his knight._ _

__Kay fixes that picture in his head - Owen looking so light and happy and able to look forward to a future _not_ earning on his back - and pulls himself up from the dirt. His hands are shaking already, and he can’t brush all the dirt from his clothes, but he straightens, turns away from the thugs and heads back to Agatha’s._ _

__Everyone is full of questions and concerns and ‘where’s Owen?’ and all Kay wants to do is lie down and pretend this day never happened._ _

__But he can’t stop shaking._ _

__Esther saves him. She bullies everyone else away, even Agatha, facing her down when the madam would have Kay go back to work that very night._ _

__“You brought this on us, Agatha. You and your brother. You _leave him alone_.” Esther is vicious and nearly magnificent. She had been a friend of Kay’s mother, long succumbed to a sweating summer fever and had raised Kay herself after his mother’s death. Now she sees him hurting and afraid, and is ready to bare her claws for him._ _

__Kay leans against Esther’s shoulder and closes his eyes, feeling the tremors shake his frame._ _

__“Come on, Kay. Let’s get you to your room, get some tea into you …”_ _

__Kay lets Esther’s voice wash over him, lets her guide him to his room – a prime downstairs spot that had been his mother’s before his. He lets Esther fuss about him, pushing him to sit on the bed, sending one of the other girls crowding the doorway away for tea … Kay sits on the edge of the bed and wills his hands to stop shaking._ _

__Someone comes back and hands him a steaming, fragrant mug of something hot._ _

__“Drink up, lovely,” Esther says quietly. “It’ll help.”_ _

__Kay drinks, carefully and slowly and feels the tremors coursing through him start to ease off. Whatever’s in the tea is enough to calm him down without putting him to sleep and he drinks it to the dregs, handing the mug to Esther afterwards._ _

__“Can you talk about it lovely? What happened?”_ _

__Esther’s voice is gentle and there’s no pressure behind her words, but Kay knows that sooner or later he’s going to have to tell them what happened._ _

__He flinches when heavy rain suddenly sweeps over the house, loud and intrusive. He looks at Esther and wonders what he looks like to her. He feels like a ghost._ _

__Esther just waits, sitting on the bed with him, quiet apart from the thundering rain on the roof. He takes a deep breath, and another one, letting them out slowly._ _

__“I – I think – I’m pretty sure … Owen is – he’s – “ Kay covers his face with his shaking hands, barely noticing how cold they are._ _

__“Is what, lovely?” Esther asks, but her voice is the unnatural calm of someone who knows the answer to a question she doesn’t want to hear. “What did those men do to you?”_ _

__Kay shakes his head. “N-nothing. To me. I – They … hurt – Owen so badly and I couldn’t – and I think he’s – and they made me – “ he bends over as his stomach roils, purging the tea he’s just drunk and everything else until he’s empty and heaving. Esther rubs his back and says nothing, merely helping him to lie down on the bed before going quietly out of the room for water and cloths._ _

__She and one of the other girls – Mirabelle, he thinks as his eyes start to drift close – clean up the mess, talking quietly. He hears one shocked, loud exclamation from Mirabelle, before blessed, silent darkness steals over him, and he sleeps._ _

__The banging seems like part of the dream he’s having at first – a vague nightmare of being chased through an endless maze by a roaring beast who starts banging at the door – Kay blinks his eyes slowly, his head muzzy with sleep and grief._ _

__There’s shouting on the other side of it now – he can hear Agatha’s sharp tones, Esther’s quieter voice and … Kay stumbles out of the bed, pushing back the covers that someone had placed over him, and pulls his door open._ _

__“Gwaine,” he says blankly. “What are you doing here?”_ _

__Gwaine’s jaw is clenched and he looks _angry_ which sits badly on his open, friendly face. He must see something like fear in Kay’s own face because he makes a visible effort to calm down, glaring at both Agatha and Esther in the process._ _

__“I am not here for Kay’s _services_ ” he spits, glaring at Agatha. “I’m here because I need to talk to him. It’s about Owen.”_ _

__Kay leans against his doorframe, suddenly light-headed and nauseated again. “Owen? But Owen’s – he’s - “ He still can’t say the words out loud. He makes a pointless, sweeping gesture with his hand and hopes that Gwaine will gather his meaning, much like Esther did._ _

__“Gwaine, whatever it is – can it not wait? Kay’s been through a lot, and he’s mourning a deep loss – we all are.”_ _

__Kay blinks and shoots Esther a weak, grateful smile. Gwaine, however, isn’t moving. He’s just standing there, frowning, his arms folded._ _

__“I see,” he says quietly. “I think – Kay, I think you had better come back to the castle with me. There’s … someone you need to see.”_ _

__“No, absolutely not,” Agatha intervenes before anyone else can say anything. “Yes, we’re all sad to lose Owen, of course we are, and we’ll all mourn him in our own way but Kay has – “_ _

__She’s cut off when Gwaine unties a heavy pouch from his belt, dropping it on the floor at her feet. It clinks heavily with coin and even Kay blinks in surprise._ _

__“That should be more than enough to cover his … _fees_ ,” Gwaine says._ _

__“I’m sorry, Kay, I can’t explain right now, but you really do need to come with me to the castle.”_ _

__Kay looks at Esther, who gives a small half-shrug – can’t be worse, she mouths at him silently before giving him a wink. Esther squeezes his arm as she passes, giving Gwaine her best ‘if you hurt him I’ll cut your balls off’ stare, before drifting further back into the house._ _

__“I have to … get my things,” Kay says, hardly aware of speaking._ _

__Gwaine nods, all genial good nature again. “Come on then. I”ll help you. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”__

**************

Owen is dreaming. He feels like he’s floating, like he used to do as a young boy, in the high hot summer when his mother would take him into the woods, to a wide, cooling pool. There would be nothing but trees and sky, and the water lapping at his overheated skin.

__He blinks and shifts, frowning as he swims up from sleep. He’s … in bed, tangled in blankets. He half-hears a soothing female voice, and feels a cool hand on his forehead. Before he blinks awake, he thinks _mother_ and then, _Esther_ but he realises his mistake as soon as he opens his eyes._ _

__The woman by the bed has dark skin, kind dark eyes, and curly hair. She gives him a reassuring smile before turning to someone else, saying, “Gaius – he’s awake.”_ _

__Owen tries to sit up, but the woman puts her hand on his shoulder as a wave of dizziness passes through him. “Easy,” she says, softly. “You’ve been through a lot. Let Gaius take a look at you before you try anything strenuous.”_ _

__Owen just nods, and lies gratefully back on the bed, watching as Gaius comes over to the bed, a reassuring smile on his kind face._ _

__“There you are,” he says, bending over the bed, carefully checking Owen over with gentle hands. “Gwen, could you get Owen here a cup of water? His mouth will be dry.”_ _

__“Of course.”_ _

__“Right, lad. Let’s have a go at sitting up again. Slowly does it – that’s right.”_ _

__Gaius helps Owen sit up in the bed. Owen blinks and stares around the room, confused. He recognises Gaius – he’s been at the brothel often in his capacity as physician, but … they’re not at the brothel. Owen scrubs a hand through his hair and accepts a cup from Gwen, filled with lovely cool water._ _

__“Drink slowly,” Gaius advises. “Then I’m sure you have questions.”_ _

__Owen sips at the water, though his impulse is to swallow it down in great gulps._ _

__Apart from Gaius and the woman called Gwen, the room is empty. Well, not _empty_ Owen amends to himself, glancing around at the herbs and bowls and paraphernalia of Gaius’ occupation._ _

__He’s been hurt, he’s been badly hurt – his ribs ache, and his head hurts and if he’s been injured … “Where’s …” his voice fades to nothing and he plucks awkwardly at the blanket with his free hand. He has no idea how much they know about himself and Percival – if anything._ _

__He looks up in time to see Gwen and Gaius exchange a look and it seems as though Gwen is about to say something, when the door opens and someone comes in, in a swirl of red cloak._ _

__Owen blinks at the newcomer and clutches his cup, suddenly self-conscious._ _

__“Elyan,” Gwen says, “Owen’s awake. We were just about to tell him …”_ _

__Elyan studies Gwen’s face, and Owen wonders if they’re related, they look so similar._ _

__“I’ll do it,” he says quietly. “Lance is on his way to your chambers, fretting that you’ve been on your feet too much today.”_ _

__Gwen rolls her eyes but smiles as she touches her stomach gently. “Then I had better get back to him. Let him know I’m not going to fall apart, and I’ve mostly been sitting anyway.” Gwen turns back to the bed and smiles at Owen – such a wide, genuinely warm smile, that Owen can’t help smiling back, despite his confusion._ _

__They wait until Gwen has left, closing the door behind her._ _

__Elyan settles in the chair by the bed as Gaius mutters something about making up some soup._ _

__“You’ll be wanting to know about Percival.”_ _

__“I – you … you know,” Owen says quietly, folding the blanket nervously between his fingers. He can’t meet Elyan’s eyes, not sure what he’ll see there – whether it will be understanding, or pity, or something far worse._ _

__“Yes, I know, though I only found out … this morning. It’s been a very long day.”_ _

__Owen looks up and glances around the room, frowning. He feels sluggish and sore, slow in his thinking. “Where … if I’m hurt … “_ _

__Elyan sighs and waits until Owen looks up._ _

__“Don’t tax him for too long,” Gaius says from by the fire. “Basic facts then let him rest.”_ _

__Elyan nods and smiles at Owen._ _

__Owen keeps pleating the blanket between his fingers but he’s able to meet Elyan’s eyes._ _

__“I’m sorry. I’m – confused. It’s just, I thought that, that Percival would be here …”_ _

__“He would be, if he could,” Elyan says gently. “He’s … gone.”_ _

__“Gone? Gone where?” Owen frowns in distress and he can feel sweat prickling along his temple as his breathing starts coming out in short gasps. Gaius is beside him suddenly, holding out a steaming cup that smells like fragrant herbs._ _

__“Here,” he says gently. “Drink this while Elyan explains. It will help.”_ _

__Owen takes the cup and turns his eyes back to Elyan, who’s regarding him with a calm look._ _

__“As near as we can tell … Percival didn’t show up for training this morning. We were all under the weather a bit, we went out last night, celebrating. Merlin – you know Gaius’ apprentice – went to look for Percival .. but he found you, instead. Unconscious on Percival’s bed. Whoever did this to you was obviously looking to frame him. In his somewhat lowered state, Percival must have thought you were dead. And either that he would be blamed, or grief overtook him. Either way – we don’t know where he is.”_ _

__Owen blinks, and takes a careful sip of the hot, fragrant tea. “You think that Percival thinks I’m dead? He’s – he’s out there alone somewhere, and he thinks – you have to find him!”_ _

__Elyan takes the cup as some of the liquid spills over the side._ _

__“At the moment, his best chance is to stay hidden. The king has very … definite ideas about men who – take up with other men. I’m not saying I agree with him, or any of Percival’s friends, but the truth is that wherever he is, he’s better off.”_ _

__Owen sinks back on to the nearly flat mattress, staring at the stone ceiling. He’d known, of course, about the king’s bias, had talked about it many times with Percival, but it had only ever felt like an abstract thing. Even with Percival talking about buying him out of Agatha’s, Owen had never really thought about how Uther’s personal prejudices could affect their lives._ _

__Taking a deep breath, he grits his teeth and sits up again._ _

__“Percival didn’t do this. Percival _couldn’t_ do this. He would never hurt me.”_ _

__Elyan glances at Gaius who gives a small nod to carry on._ _

__“We know that, Owen. All of Percival’s friends – the knights, Merlin, none of us believe him capable of hurting you. We’ll get him back for you. You just need to be patient.”_ _

__“And get some rest,” Gaius says suddenly. He smiles at Elyan and makes a shooing gesture with his hands. “It’s getting late, my boy. Your lady wife will be wondering where you’ve got to. I’ll be all right here, and Merlin should be along soon to help. We all need a good night’s sleep, and we can come at it fresh in the morning.”_ _

__Elyan nods and silently squeezes Owen’s hand, resting flat on the patched blanket._ _

__“I – thank you – Elyan? Thank you.”_ _

__Elyan smiles before ducking silently out the door._ _

__Gaius smiles at Owen who find himself relaxing under the kindly gaze. “I - I don’t know how to thank you, Gaius. For - everything.”_ _

__Gaius waves a hand and turns back to his fire. “It’s nothing, dear boy, don’t even think of it.”_ _

__“It’s … so much to take in,” Owen says, blinking and feeling overwhelmed._ _

__“Of course. Well, you’ll be seeing at least one familiar face soon - Gwaine - you know Gwaine, yes?”_ _

__Owen nods and waits for Gaius to continue. “Well, he’s gone to fetch Kay from Agatha’s. He seems to think Kay might know something about what happened to you?”_ _

__Kay, Owen thinks with a guilty start. “I hadn’t thought about Kay,” he says quietly as Gaius re-checks his bandages once more, grunting in satisfaction._ _

__“He … he was with me.”_ _

__Gaius looks at the young boy, his eyes piercing and thoughtful. “He was with you when this happened?”_ _

__Owen nods, feeling shame and guilt wash through him._ _

__“So – do you know – “_ _

__Whatever question Gaius was going to ask is interrupted by the door being flung open, and Gwaine and Kay rushing in. Kay’s already talking a mile a minute, his hands stretched out, and all Owen can do is reach out, bringing his friend into his embrace and repeating over and over, “It’s all right, I’m all right,” vaguely aware of Gaius admonishing Kay to be gentle, and Gwaine in the background, his arms folded, a grim look on his face.__

**************

Percival wakes with a start, his mouth dry and his heart racing. He’s still sitting in the same position and his muscles groan in protest when he tries to move. He’s dry again, but he’s freezing and it takes him a moment to remember the events of the day before.

___Owen_. He digs his hands into the hard, rocky ground of the cave, using the physical pain to distract his aching heart. Carefully he stands up, methodically stretching out his legs and his arms until he feels his blood flowing warm through his veins again._ _

__Percival stretches and reaches down, absently adjusting his scabbard, pushed out of his way the night before, but still securely around his hips. He draws his sword and stares at the cold, steel blade for a long moment._ _

__Someone has taken the person he loves – loved the most in the world. Someone has stolen his future, his hope, and his heart. And now, Percival thinks, standing up and straightening his massive shoulders, _someone_ is going to pay._ _

__He has a renewed sense of purpose as he slips out of the cave entrance into the forest, the fragile dawn of a new day just barely touching the tops of the trees._ _

__The air is clear and sharp, washed clean by the heavy rain of the day before. The ground under his feet is a sodden carpet of leaves, but Percival barely notices._ _

__Owen is gone. All of the hopes he had for a shared future taste like cold ashes in his mouth. He feels a strong flush of shame as he recalls his wild flight of the day before. But panic has burned out of him, replaced by a strong, abiding grief, and another kind of fire: a cold, long-burning desire for revenge._ _

__Percival sets his face to Camelot and takes a deep breath. He risks arrest, he knows, just by re-entering the city gates. But he has friends like Gwaine and Merlin, who know all of the high and low places to sneak in and out of the castle and the town, and he knows he can make it to his destination without being seen if he’s careful._ _

__He hesitates a moment, before unclasping his long red cloak and letting it fall to the forest floor. It’s far too distinctive, and after yesterday, he’s pretty sure that Arthur won’t welcome him back to his place at the Round Table._ _

__He pauses to take a deep breath as that careless thought sends another stab of grief to his burdened heart. He would have given it all up for Owen – being a knight, even giving up his friends - men he has fought beside, would die for and with - but it would have been _his_ choice. To have it ripped away from him like this …_ _

__Percival sets his jaw, carefully buries his cloak under a pile of forest debris, swings his sword in a wide arc, and sets his feet, and what remains of his heart, back to Camelot._ _

__He supposes that Arthur, or some of the other knights may come looking for him, so – despite wanting to _hurry_ , burst through the city gates and demand justice, Percival calms his breathing, and his pulse, and plunges into the forest itself, carefully to erase his passage as he goes, and always keeping the high stone walls of the castle in front of him. __

**************

The interview with Uther is about as draining as Arthur expects it to be. They raise their voices and the argument rages and echoes off the ancient stones of the castle.

__Uther is determined that Arthur should banish his “precious Round Table – it’s brought you nothing but trouble, and has brought _shame_ down on to my rule!”_ _

__“ _NO_ ” Arthur roars, surprised at the power in his own voice, that even stops Uther in his tracks and makes Leon jump slightly._ _

__Arthur pushes a hand roughly through his hair and grits his teeth, feeling an ache deep in his jaw. If he gives this away now – gives away his _dream_ of a more united Camelot to Uther, then he will never be the king that he knows he can be one day._ _

__“No,” he says, more calmly, his voice hoarse. “They are my knights, father, not yours. And I will not put together the best group of knights – men I trust _with my very life_ only to have them undone by you because of one knight’s – transgressions.”_ _

__Arthur forces himself to look Uther in the eye, face-to-face, almost equals. Uther stares at him for a long moment, before shrugging, dismissing them both with a deceptively idle wave of his hand._ _

__“Very well. Have it your way. You will destroy everything that I have worked to build here, through your sheer _sentiment_ but I suppose that is your choice. Now go. Do not return to me until you have news of your … _knight_.”_ _

__“Yes, father,” Arthur says quietly, indicating to Leon to follow. They both leave the room quietly, Arthur exhaling a long, long breath when he’s out in the corridor again._ _

__“That could have been worse,” Leon says quietly as they make their way back to Arthur’s chambers._ _

__Arthur just nods, glancing out a window at the dark sky, now dotted and spangled thick with stars. Exhaustion hits him like a wave, and he nearly stumbles, but for Leon’s steadying hand on his shoulder._ _

__“You need rest,” Leon says, his own voice weary. “We all do.”_ _

__Arthur just nods as Leon pushes open the door to his chambers. “Thank you Leon,” Arthur says, aiming for detached, but only just making tired. “I’ll … see you in the morning.” He smiles at his faithful knight to take away the sting of the dismissal. Leon just nods and closes the door quietly behind him._ _

__Arthur turns, mentally steeling himself for Merlin’s chatter, but the room is quiet. The fire is going, and there’s food on the table. Merlin’s head suddenly pops up from behind Arthur’s dressing screen and he smiles, wide and bright when he sees Arthur._ _

__Despite his deep exhaustion, Arthur finds himself smiling back, feeling lighter already._ _

__“I won’t ask how it went,” Merlin says, busying himself with helping Arthur unbuckle his sword, putting it away as Arthur collapses into his chair, not realising until he can smell the roast meat on his plate how starving he his._ _

__He’s vaguely aware of Merlin moving about the room, even though it looks as tidy as Arthur’s ever seen it. He kicks at the chair beside him and says, “Here, sit down. You’re making me more tired just looking at you.”_ _

__Merlin collapses into the chair, his arms and legs seemingly everywhere for a moment, his stupid neckerchief has come askew and Arthur finds himself staring at the hollow between Merlin’s collarbones. Merlin’s skin is slightly flushed, warming it from its usual pallor to slightly pink and Arthur can’t stop staring …_ _

__Merlin waves his fingers in front of Arthur’s eyes, breaking the spell. Arthur starts back, blinking, flushing and angry._ _

__“What are you _doing_ Merlin, you could put someone’s eye out waving your fingers about like that!”_ _

__Arthur ducks his head to his plate and picks up a large piece of meat, biting down on it viciously._ _

__“I was wondering where you’d gone,” Merlin says cheerfully, stealing Arthur’s loaf of bread and breaking it in half. “You looked more absent than usual just then.”_ _

__Arthur rolls his eyes but feels some of the tension leach out of his shoulders. Bantering with Merlin puts them on better footing and what’s he thinking anyway, staring at Merlin’s _throat_ of all things? He must be more tired than he thought. He rubs at his eyes and reaches for his goblet that Merlin – thoughtful for once – has filled with only slightly watered down wine._ _

__They eat in companionable silence for a while, and Arthur can feel his limbs getting heavy even as a yawn escapes, threatening to crack his jaw. Merlin is sitting with his head in one hand, the fire reflecting gold in his eyes, his fingers playing with the stem of his own goblet._ _

__It’s a strangely intimate moment and Arthur shifts on his chair, feeling his face flush red from the wine and the proximity of Mer – of the fire. He frowns and shakes his head. Between Percival disappearing, and the revelations about his personal life and Arthur himself standing up to his father, it’s been a long, strange day. He’s more than ready for it to be over._ _

__He starts when Merlin stirs and begins stacking the plates, ready to take them back to the kitchen._ _

__“Leave it, Merlin. Get them in the morning. Go and – ahhhh – get some sleep. Go on. I’m fine.”_ _

__Merlin hesitates, lingering by the table, reluctant to leave for some reason. “Are you sure? You look like you’re going to fall asleep right there …”_ _

__With an effort, Arthur drags himself to his feet, and musters a tired smirk._ _

__“Much and all as I know you love my company, _Merlin_ yes, I’m sure. Go. Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s probably not going to be any better for any of us.”_ _

__“All right. _Sire_.”_ _

__Arthur rolls his eyes and watches as Merlin leaves, closing the door behind him with a quiet click._ _

__Arthur sighs, letting out a long breath, before pushing back from the table and nearly stumbling to his bed. Sleep. Whatever tomorrow brings, he will need to be ready to face it.__

**************

Merlin makes his way down the corridor towards his and Gaius’ chambers. He’s pleasantly tired, he realises as he walks, his limbs heavy and his mood somewhat light, despite the events of the past day or so.

__He believes – possibly irrationally he knows – that Percival will return, be exonerated, be reunited with Owen, and that life in Camelot will go back to … well, what passes for normal, anyway. Percival and Owen will be together, Gwaine will continue sleeping with anyone who stands still long enough to fall for his charms, and Merlin will continue to pine for Arthur, and occasionally save his life when circumstances require it._ _

__“Prat,” he mutters to himself, unsure who he’s referring to – Arthur or – his thoughts cut out on him when he opens the door to Gaius’ chambers. Gwaine is there, standing by the fire, and there’s someone talking to Owen …._ _

___talking to Owen_ _ _

__“You’re awake!” Merlin exclaims, grinning as he closes the door behind him._ _

__“How are you feeling?”_ _

__Owen smiles back, almost shy as he lowers his eyes and Merlin can see what Percival sees in him because that look is nearly devastating. “I, um, all right? I mean, sore, but Gaius said I hadn’t broken anything so …”_ _

__“That’s good, that’s probably the best news we’ve had today.”_ _

__“It might be the only good news for a while,” Gwaine says, grimly, a look that sits badly on his open, friendly face._ _

__“Why, what’s happened? Has Percival … “_ _

__Gwaine shakes his head as Gaius moves about in the background, quietly preparing some kind of food._ _

__“No – nothing like that. It’s – Kay, here says he was with Owen when – when he was hurt.”_ _

__“It was a couple of – thugs,” Kay says from Owen’s bedside. “We were … working and – “_ _

__Merlin holds up his hand, stopping Kay mid-stream._ _

__“Sorry, I’m sorry, but I think Arthur needs to hear this, and to save you telling it twice – let’s all just – get some sleep, yeah? Then you can tell it to all of us at once, in the morning.”_ _

__Kay’s jaw clenches but he nods and squeezes Owen’s hand briefly before standing up. “All right. Will you take me back to Agatha’s, Gwaine? I should really be …”_ _

__“No. No, you’re staying here, with me. The safest place for you right now, is here in the castle with me. Those thugs know you can identify them, and they could be looking for you. You can sleep in my room.”_ _

__Kay raises an eyebrow and puts his hand on his hip, cocking it slightly to one side. “Well, now, sir knight, you know that’s going to cost you … a boy has to eat, after all.”_ _

__Gwaine bursts out laughing at that, his grim visage disappearing like mist in the sun. Merlin finds himself relaxing his shoulders, letting tension he didn’t know he was holding on to bleed out of his body. Seeing Gwaine with a face like that … it’s almost as wrong as Percival not being around and Merlin’s oddly reassured by this small return to normal. Maybe things will be okay …_ _

__“Brat,” Gwaine says affectionately as Kay moves to stand beside him. “You know I’ve already paid Agatha for the night. If you’re _very_ good, you might earn a bonus …”_ _

__Gaius appears from somewhere and makes a shooing motion at them both with his hands. “Go on, out, out! And get some actual _sleep_ , please. No one knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.”_ _

__Kay glances over his shoulder at Owen as if to reassure himself that he’s still there._ _

__“Go on, Kay. Go with Gwaine. I’m all right here with Gaius and Merlin. I’ll be fine.”_ _

__“If you’re …”_ _

__“I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”_ _

__Merlin waits until Gwaine and Kay are gone before slumping in the chair by Owen’s bed. He’s surprised into a huge yawn and rubs at his eyes._ _

__“I think … I’m going to go to bed, Gaius,” Merlin says sleepily, pushing himself up from the chair._ _

__“Are you sure dear boy? I’ve made enough for all of us …”_ _

__Merlin smiles at that, but he’s already swaying on his feet. “I’m sure. I ate with Arthur, I’m fine.”_ _

__He vaguely hears Gaius replying as he stumbles to his own room, aware of familiar, comforting noises behind him, as he shuts his door and does nothing so much as collapse on his bed. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.__

**************

Percival pushes through the forest, using his size to force a path when there isn’t a clear one in front of him. He looks up periodically, to make sure the walls of Camelot are still where he expects them to be.

__They seem impossibly far, but Percy just tightens his belt, securing his sword, and keeps running._ _

__The sun is high and blazing yellow and pitiless in the sky by the time he reaches Camelot’s outer walls. His skin is slick with sweat and he has a raging thirst but he doesn’t dare stop._ _

__He moves around the wall, looking for a small, unremarkable and ancient door - one of Merlin and Gwaine’s boltholes for getting in and out of Camelot quickly. For Percival it has the added benefit of being near enough to the brothel that he can – he hopes – slip through the streets to it unseen._ _

__He makes it to the doors, standing wide open and welcoming to the busy noontime Camelot streets. Quietly he slips inside and stands for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden dimness._ _

__“Percival? What are you doing here?”_ _

__Percival’s hand goes to his sword as he turns to the sound of he voice. “Esther?”_ _

__“Yes, Percival what – why are you here?”_ _

__“I … I’m here about – Owen.” His voice stumbles over the name and he has to swallow hard against the sudden lump in his throat._ _

__Esther glances around and wordlessly draws him further into the house, into the large downstairs room, curiously empty at such a quiet time of day._ _

__“What is it, Esther, what’s going on?” he asks, suddenly confused._ _

__“I’m hoping you can tell me,” Esther says, indicating that he should sit down._ _

__“Gwaine came by last night and took Kay up to the castle – we haven’t seen either of them since. Agatha’s … well, she’s not pleased.”_ _

__Percival frowns in confusion but shakes his head. He can’t afford to be distracted right now._ _

__“Esther … Owen is – he’s … “ Percival trails off, unable to finish, and unable to look Esther in the eye. He drops his head and stares at the floor, his hands curling unconsciously into fists._ _

__“We know, Percival. Kay - he told us. He said he was with him until – “_ _

__Percival laughs, bitter and dry._ _

__“They … left him on my bed, in my rooms. I – he looked … b-broken. I – I ran,” he says quietly, still staring at the floor. “I panicked, and I ran and I’ll never forgive myself for doing that – I-“_ _

__He jumps slightly when he feels hands on his shoulders._ _

__“Percival. Percival, look at me.” They both wait for a long heartbeat until Percival raises his eyes to meet Esther’s._ _

__“That’s why I came back,” he says quietly. “To find whoever it was, and – to take from them what they took from me.”_ _

__Esther just nods, her jaw set in a grim line. “Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to work out who it was. Kay and Owen were sent out together on a job … I – tried to get Kay to talk to me when he came back but he was so …”_ _

__Esther lifts her hands and makes a helpless, wide gesture._ _

__Percival studies her for a moment before straightening, and standing. He rests one hand on his sword pommel and shifts his shoulders, relishing the feel of muscle moving under skin._ _

__“I need to talk to Agatha,” he says._ _

__The interview with Agatha is short, and ugly. Percival isn’t interested in hearing her excuses, or her sob story – as far as he’s concerned, she’d do better to throw her useless brother out with the slops – and once he has what he needs, he makes ready to leave._ _

__Esther catches his arm on the way out. She studies his face and seems to find what she needs in his eyes. She straightens her shoulders and gives him a quick hug._ _

__“For Owen,” she whispers in his ear, and it’s nearly his undoing, right there on the steps of the house. But. Yes. “For Owen,” he echoes. Whatever end he makes today, he will hold that in his heart._ _

__

__Esther presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and then Percival slips out into Camelot, facing towards the slums with as much determination as he can muster._ _

__It’s surprisingly easy, in the end. There are certain kinds of people who will betray their own mothers for a silver coin, and to find two such men who do nothing but wreak violence upon the lives of others, it doesn’t even take that long._ _

__They’re lounging at a table in a dingy, mean tavern, the timbers being held together by little more than the fumes emanating out the open door. Percival doesn’t even hesitate._ _

__He’s vaguely aware of others trying to stop him but he feels as though he’s been imbued with magic, or some kind of power beyond his knowledge. His blood is singing and he’s barely aware of the fact he’s roaring, his sword raised and already stained with blood._ _

__There’s a fight, of a sort – a short, brutal battle that leaves both men unconscious on the floor of the tavern. Percival sheathes his sword and idly toes at one of the bodies._ _

__“I need to take these two up to the castle,” he says to no one in particular. “Does anyone have a cart I might borrow?”_ _

__The innkeeper does, and Percival solemnly promises to return it when he’s “dumped the garbage”. The innkeeper just looks around the wreckage of his tavern in a resigned sort of way and nods, before picking up a mop and beginning the somewhat futile task of cleaning up._ _

__Normally, Percival is the kind of person who would stop and help, but today … today he is a very different kind of man._ _

__He takes up the handles of the cart – after unceremoniously dropping both still unconscious men into the back of it – and starts hauling it towards the castle._ _

__He may not have the future he’d planned with Owen, had dreamed about on long stretches of patrol duty, but nor would Owen’s loss go unpunished. He’d never be able to live with himself if he let that happen._ _

__He gets as far as the castle gates, his arms trembling with the effort of pushing the cart such a long way, stopping in front of the guards._ _

__One raises a lazy eyebrow at him and says, “and what is your business here?”_ _

__Percival brushes his hand down over his torn and bloody shirt, wondering what kind of picture he’s making._ _

__“I need to see …. “ Percival hesitates. Uther? No, not Uther._ _

__“Need to see who, peasant? We don’t have all day.”_ _

__Percival sighs and rubs his hand over his face. New guards. Of course. He tilts his head back, staring at the sky for a moment wondering what he’s going to do now. Then he catches a flash of red above him, through one of the narrow windows. It’s followed by a familiar, curly mop of gingerish hair and Percival breathes again._ _

__“Leon!” he shouts as loud as he can, making sure the man can hear him. Leon looks out, does a double take, and disappears immediately._ _

__The guards look at him with slightly warier looks on their faces. Percival resists the urge to grin and resettles his grip on the handcart. He hears a booming noise on the other side, and Leon shouting “open the gates!”_ _

__The guards hasten to obey, swinging the broad wooden gates wide open. Leon strides out, glancing at the cart before pulling Percival into a strong embrace. “My friend,” he says, his voice muffled against Percival’s neck. “We thought - we thought you were gone for good.”_ _

__Percival pulls back, half-smiling. “I thought so too, at first. But I couldn’t let Owen’s … I couldn’t let …. “_ _

__Leon grips his arm, unable to stop grinning. “I’m glad you came back.”_ _

__Percival indicates the cart, where one of the men has started stirring, and groaning. “These … men are the ones who - who - “_ _

__Leon’s face hardens as he turns to the gate guards. “Take these men to the dungeons. When they wake up, make sure they know that they are under arrest, and will be tried for assault, at the very least.”_ _

__Leon waits, patiently while the guards push and pull the cart through the open gates heading for the dungeons. Percival watches and lets out a long breath. Before he can say anything, Leon grabs his arm again._ _

__“Come with me. There’s someone you need to see.”_ _

__

__Before he can protest, Leon is dragging him down one of Camelot’s long corridors, heading towards Gaius and Merlin’s rooms as far as Percival can tell._ _

__“But, Leon, I don’t - what’s going on?”_ _

__His question fades out as Leon pushes open Gaius’ door. Percival’s first, overall impression is of a crowd - so many people in such a small space. Gaius is there, of course, and Merlin. Arthur, for some reason with Gwaine and - Kay?_ _

__Percival blinks in surprise, but then his eyes zero in on the person sitting on the long bench at Gaius’ table. He’s aware - barely - of letting out a strangled sob before he crosses the room and falls to his knees, his legs unable to hold him up. It’s a dream. It has to be a dream. He’s still in the forest, and he’s _dreaming__ _

__Just in case, just in case this is real and not some cruel, fevered imagining, Percival reaches out his hand - reaches up which is rare for him - and touches Owen’s face. He silently traces over the line of Owen’s cheekbone, over his mouth … he’s suddenly aware that the room has fallen silent behind him._ _

__“You could hear a snowflake land in here right now,” Owen says softly, smiling down at Percival._ _

__“You’re - are you - “_ _

__“I’m fine, Percy,” Owen says, reaching up to press Percy’s hand against his cheek. “See? Real. Very real. I’m fine.”_ _

__“You - I thought - I thought you were - d-dead.” Percival chokes on the last word, feeling the pressure of Owen’s fingers against his own. Everything else has faded out - the people, the room, and all Percy can see is Owen’s warm, brown eyes smiling down at him._ _

__“No. Very much alive. A bit … sore, here and there, but alive. Gaius has been looking after me. And - the other knights.”_ _

__Percival bows his head, resting his forehead against Owen’s thigh, as gently as he can. “I - you’re alive. You’re - all right.”_ _

__“Mostly, yes” Owen says quietly, running his hand over Percival’s head. Percival smiles when he feels Owen’s fingers tracing over the bumps of his skull. With that small, familiar gesture, everything comes home to him._ _

__He hasn’t lost everything. He still has Owen. Anything else he can cope with. Because his heart is safe._ _

__He lifts his head and finds a laugh catching in his throat, nearly turning into a sob. It’s an odd, tense moment that’s broken when Gaius bustles forward, carrying a small leather satchel._ _

__“Here you go, Percival. There’s teas in there, and salves, for Owen’s treatments. There’s not much too it - just keeping a close eye on the worst of the bruising, really.”_ _

__Percival stands up and takes the satchel, more out of an ingrained habit of obeying Gaius that they all have than anything else. “But I - I can’t - “_ _

__“Yes you can. Of course you can. Owen is young, and healthy which is half the battle. The rest, is up to you. Everything you need is in there, and quite frankly, you’re cluttering up my rooms right now.”_ _

__Percival clutches the satchel and shakes his head briefly, feeling as though he truly is waking up from a dream. “I - um. Thank you, Gaius.”_ _

__He turns and looks at Arthur, giving an awkward bow. “Your highness. I um … suppose I owe you some kind of explanation.”_ _

__Arthur folds his arms and gives Percival a long, stern look that Percival can’t fathom anything from. “Yes, Sir Percival, you do.” Arthur glances from Percival to Owen and back again, and Percival finds himself holding his breath, because Arthur’s next words will determine their future - in Camelot or out._ _

__“However, it can wait until after training tomorrow. I trust you’ll be fit enough to join us?”_ _

__Percival studies Arthur for a moment, sees the lines of tension in his neck and in the way his arms are folded tight across his body, and wonders what this has cost him._ _

__“Yes Sire,” is all he says out loud._ _

__“Good. You’re dismissed until then, Sir Percival. I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”_ _

__Percival lets out another strangled, strange laugh and turns back to Owen, his expression immediately shifting to concern._ _

__“Are you sure you’re all right?” Percival reaches out a hand as Owen moves to stand up, so slowly that Percival has a sudden, irrational urge to go down to the dungeons and start hitting those damn thugs all over again._ _

__“I’m fine, Percival, really. Just... sore. Everywhere.”_ _

__“Gaius?”_ _

__“He’s fine, Percival, there’s no need to hover. Moving around a bit will be good for him - he was unconscious until very late last night and his muscles need to feel the blood flowing. Take him down to your rooms, fill a tub if you can - warm the water first - and put some of the salve that smells like mint on the worst of the bruising. There’s also fresh bandages in the bag. You’ll be fine.”_ _

__Percival opens his mouth again, but gets distracted by Owen gripping his arm._ _

__“I’ll be fine, Percival. Plus Gaius is nearby if I need anything … “_ _

__Percival looks down at Owen’s hand, where his fingers are curled around Percival’s upper arm and he feels like he’s going to fall to his knees again. He nods, not trusting his voice, and carefully leads Owen out of the room, down the corridors to his own chambers._ _

__It’s a slow trip but Percival couldn’t care if it takes them all day - Owen is _here_ and he’s alive. It’s all Percival can do not to run up to the very top of the castle and shout it to the four winds._ _

__As they go, he tells Owen what he’d done that morning - finding the men who had hurt him, bringing them in to be arrested and tried. Owen has to stop then, swaying alarmingly._ _

__He leans against the wall and takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, his eyes closed and his face unreadable. “I’m … I’m all right. You - you came back for me, even though you thought I was gone. You came back for me.”_ _

__Owen opens his eyes and studies Percival’s face, searching for something. He smiles eventually as some colour comes back to his cheeks and pushes himself carefully away from the wall._ _

__He loops his arm through Percival’s and they carry on their slow, quiet way towards Percival’s chambers._ _

__“I love you, you know,” Owen says quietly as they walk. “And when I’m fully recovered, I’m going to show you just how much.”_ _

__Percival glances down at him and smiles. He’s about to say something when Owen tugs on his arm and pulls them both into a shadowy alcove._ _

__There’s a spare amount of light coming through a window on the other side of the corridor, and Percival can just see Owen’s face, his head tilted up. His mouth is curved up in a smile and Percival leans down, kissing Owen gently on the lips - a soft peck, nothing more. He rests his forehead against Owen’s and closes his eyes, letting the quiet of the moment, of everything, settle into his skin and his bones._ _

__“I love you too,” he says quietly before kissing Owen again, firmer this time, with a promise behind it. Owen makes a small noise in the back of his throat and rests his hands on Percival’s hips._ _

__They stay in the alcove for an unknown length of time, exchanging kisses and quiet words; fervent promises in the dark until Owen sags against Percival’s chest, sighing._ _

__Percival’s immediately contrite and gently wraps his arms around Owen’s shoulders. “You’re exhausted, I should have thought …”_ _

__Owen shakes his head, but says nothing when Percival loops Gaius’ satchel over his shoulders, then picks him up gently, like he weighs nothing at all, and carries him all the way to the chamber._ _

__Owen wraps his arms around Percival’s strong neck, wincing slightly, and lets his knight - his love and his very own champion - bear all of his weight._ _

__Percival does it easily.__

**************

“Well done, Arthur.”

__The voice is quiet, just behind him and Arthur doesn’t move to acknowledge it, but he feels something heavy loosen inside his chest. It’s worth it, he thinks, watching the way Percival and Owen interact, the obvious deep bond they share. It has to be worth it … his thoughts are interrupted by Leon, who says to him quietly, “Sire, Sir Percival brought the men he says are responsible for the attack on Owen to the castle - they were unconscious, but alive. I ordered them taken to the dungeons. They might be awake by now, if you wanted to question them yourself … “_ _

__Arthur frowns as he considers Leon’s words. A confession will clear Percival’s name once and for all. He looks at Leon, then happens to catch Gwaine’s gaze, who’s standing with the other, uh, boy from the brothel. Gwaine is absently stroking the pommel of his sword, closely following the exchange._ _

__Arthur stretches his shoulders and swallows back a sigh. He wants it _done_ , suddenly - wants to go back to things that he understands - training with his knights, clashing over policies with his father and advisers. Even going off on some crack-brained scheme of Merlin’s would feel more normal than this lunacy._ _

__“Take Lance, and Elyan,” he says to Leon. “Go and question the prisoners, if they’re awake. Their options are to confess, and leave Camelot forever, or the executioner’s axe. I imagine you’ll be escorting them to the borders. And I’ll see you all at training tomorrow.”_ _

__Leon bows to Arthur before indicating for Lance and Elyan to follow him._ _

__The silence left in the room is sudden and somehow shocking. Arthur sighs and pushes a hand through his hair._ _

__“Well, there’s a council meeting soon that I’m sure father will expect to see me at.” Arthur glances out the window at the sky, a washed-clean blue that he knows will soon extend to the horizon. He forces his attention back to Merlin, who’s grinning at him like he’s Merlin’s favourite treat._ _

__Arthur shakes his head at that. He must be more tired than he realised._ _

__“Make yourself useful, Merlin. I’m sure Gaius can find plenty for you to do while we’re at the meeting. I’ll expect you in my room later to attend me.”_ _

__Merlin rolls his eyes and pulls a face, but says nothing beyond a mocking “Yes _Sire_.”_ _

__Arthur snorts at that, gives a small nod to Gaius, and mentally fortifies himself for the meeting ahead. Policies and boundary reports and grain figures … he finds himself almost looking forward to the droning predictability of it. At least it’s something tangible._ _

__He waits while Gaius gives Merlin some quiet instructions and then they both leave for the meeting, Arthur having to resist the impulse to turn around to meet Merlin’s eyes one more time._ _

__He talks idly to Gaius as they walk, quietly going over the events of the morning, and filling Gaius in on the details of the argument with his father the day before._ _

__“I don’t like to oppose him, Gaius, but I just … felt very strongly that I needed to do what I did - not just for Sir Percival but for all of the Round Table - and for myself.” Arthur adds the last part quietly, frowning, like it’s a realisation he’s just come to._ _

__“Well, Sire, you know I think you did the right thing. Sir Percival is a fine knight, and young Owen is as pleasant a young man you could wish to meet, his former occupation notwithstanding.”_ _

__They’re outside the council chambers door now, so Arthur has no time to reply beyond a nod to acknowledge Gaius’ words._ _

__The meeting is tedious and long. Uther only references the dramas of the day before by asking Arthur if everything has been settled to his satisfaction, barely acknowledging his reply before turning his attention back to the map spread out on the table in front of him._ _

__It’s a curious repeat of the evening before when he makes his way his way back to his chambers after quietly talking to Gaius before sending him back to his own rooms for supper. Arthur finds the presence of the old physician soothing after wrangling with his father and his father’s other advisers for the better part of the day._ _

__Gaius leaves him with a pat on the arm and a quiet good night, leaving Arthur to enter his own rooms to find Merlin bustling about. The fire is lit, there’s food on the table that smells so very good, and a goblet of wine beside it._ _

__Perfect._ _

__Arthur’s starving, and he’s tired, but for a moment, he lets himself watch Merlin as he goes about straightening the bed covers, muttering to himself all the while. It’s soothing, and Merlin looks somehow … right in Arthur’s room. Arthur leans against the door, still quiet and lets that thought linger with him for a moment. With everything that’s happened over the past day or so Arthur hasn’t had time, really, to consider the fact that it’s made him start looking at Merlin … differently._ _

__He frowns at that, his first instinct to push the thought - the well-worn, familiar thought if he’s honest - to the back of his mind. But then he thinks of Percival, thinks of the open expression of love and relief - how he couldn’t even keep his feet on the ground when he discovered Owen was still alive - and he allows himself to think - maybe._ _

__Merlin looks up then, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to hold up the door all night your highness? Because I’m pretty sure the door has these things called _hinges_ that do it for you. Very little call for door-holder-uppers these days.”_ _

__Arthur rolls his eyes and bites back a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. I’m just … tired. It was a long meeting. Nothing you would understand of course. I suppose you’ve been frolicking with deer or picking flowers, or whatever it is that you do when you’re not being the worst manservant in the world.”_ _

__Merlin grins at him, the bright, open grin that always makes Arthur want to smile back while simultaneously protecting Merlin from every bad thing in the world because someone who smiles at the world like that - so open and trusting - should never know about the dark ._ _

__He must be tired because that barely makes sense, and it’s - girlish _nonsense_ -_ _

__“Yes, Arthur, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Frolicking and er, picking flowers. And now I’ve also tidied your rooms, fetched your dinner, started your fire …”_ _

__Arthur holds up a hand, but he’s grinning. “Yes, yes, you work very hard, you’re an excellent servant …”_ _

__Merlin comes to stand in front of him, studying his eyes and frowning in confusion. “Did you hit your head on the way back from the council meeting? That almost sounded like a compliment!”_ _

__“I told, you, _Mer_ lin, I’m tired. Very tired, Practically delirious. I have no idea what I’m saying. Let’s um. Let’s eat, shall we before all the food goes cold?”_ _

__Merlin relents, standing back to let Arthur go to sit down at the table. Arthur indicates the chair beside him. He picks up his wine goblet and studies the red depths. “Sit down, Merlin, have something to eat. Give Gaius some peace from your prattle.”_ _

__Merlin snorts at that, but takes a seat anyway, reaching for the loaf of bread and breaking it in two, handing half back to Arthur. “So to save, Gaius, you’ll listen to my prattle? How noble, you should be a knight.”_ _

__They carry on like this, back and forth until the food is nearly gone and the wine half-drunk. Their talk flows from banter to discussion of the meeting, to the sudden return of Percival, and Arthur’s equally sudden acceptance of the revelation of Percival’s relationship with Owen._ _

__Arthur turns the stem of his cup around, and around, staring at the remaining wine. “I don’t know why I did it,” he says of the argument with his father the day before. “I was set, of course, for the interview to be difficult, because I hadn’t managed to pick up his trail, but suddenly I found myself … defending him. Defending the Round Table.”_ _

__He picks up his goblet and heads to the fire, staring down into its flickering depths, feeling Merlin’s eyes on his back._ _

__“It just … seemed very important, suddenly. Losing Percival would break the circle, break the bond. And if he proved to be innocent - which, of course, he did, then the bond would be irreparable.” He stops talking and frowns, laughing uncomfortably._ _

__“Did you put some of Gaius’ special remedy in the wine, Merlin? I’m nearly as chatty as you are tonight.”_ _

__He means it to sound light and teasing but it comes out wavering and almost like a question which immediately makes Arthur straighten his shoulders and marshal his inner defences. He’s a prince - _the_ prince and he really can’t go about prattling to manservants like this …_ _

__Merlin just smiles and stands up, picking up his own cup on the way. “It’s been a long, strange couple of days for everyone, Arthur. Relax. You don’t need to go all … princely. It’s just me. I’m not going to run around Camelot telling everyone you suddenly had an emotion.”_ _

__“Very funny, Merlin,” Arthur says, relaxing back into familiar banter. “Next time a troupe of travelling performers comes through, you should go on the road with them. I’m sure your act is a riot on stage.”_ _

__“Mmmmhmmm … I’ll be sure to do just that. Then you can get a _competent_ manservant. I’m sure George would volunteer …”_ _

__Arthur shudders at the thought of the oh-so-precise and oh-so-dull George in his chambers every day. His rooms and his things would be immaculate, and he would want to throw himself out of the window through sheer boredom._ _

__“Whatever your impulse was in defying your father for Percival’s sake, Arthur - it was … very well done. I know I said that earlier but I wanted to …” Merlin makes an awkward gesture, apparently forgetting about the cup in his hand, because he manages to slosh about half of it over his breeches and onto the floor._ _

__Arthur starts laughing, and it feels so good, like a clear release after the past few days of tension, that he just gives himself over to the moment until he can feel tears on his cheeks and his breath is heaving._ _

__Merlin grumbles through it, cleaning the wine off the floor and muttering about the state of his breeches and _will you shut up Arthur_ , which simply serves to set him off again._ _

__He finally calms down and is able to sit at the table, grinning widely and feeling far more relaxed than he can remember being lately._ _

__Merlin joins him, muttering about his breeches._ _

__“Oh, shut up about your trousers, Merlin. I’m sure they’ve had worse spilt on them than a little wine.”_ _

__The silence that follows is, at the very least … heavy. Arthur takes a sip from his cup and wills his ears not to go red, because that would just be ridiculous … he studies the remains of the chicken on his plate instead, intently tracing the shape of one of the bones._ _

__Eventually, he hears Merlin give a soft sigh. “Arthur … is there - is there something else we need to talk about?”_ _

__Arthur closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. “No. No, Merlin - there’s nothing. It’s just. Been a long few days. You should. Um. Go and get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning before training.”_ _

__Resolutely Arthur raises his eyes to meet Merlin’s, studying the depths of them for a long moment. At first Arthur thinks Merlin is going to say something, to push something, but in the end all Merlin says is, “All right. I’ll see you in the morning, then, Good night, Sire.”_ _

__It’s formal and stiff and Arthur wants to take back his words, to get their easy bantering tone back, but he feels stretched and nearly used up. He just nods to dismiss Merlin for the night and once he hears the door close, he tilts his head back to stare at the solid stone above his head, asking silent, unanswerable questions until his neck aches and he starts to become dizzy with the effort.__

**************

“You could stay with me, you know,” Gwaine says, his voice muffled against Kay’s neck. Gwaine had managed to persuade him - using considerable charm and deep pockets - to stay another night in the castle.

__Kay laughs softly and nudges back against Gwaine’s fingers, three of which are inside him, fucking him open slowly. Kay half-closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the sensation for a moment._ _

__Being with Gwaine is always an indulgence, because Gwaine is determined that Kay should have as good a time as he’s having, and although ultimately it boils down to a base transaction, it’s nice to be with someone who wants to delight in his enjoyment._ _

__“And do what,” he says idly, arching back against Gwaine’s solid chest as his fingers rub against the spot inside him that always makes Kay feel like he’s going to shake apart - just a little bit._ _

__“Hmmm … I don’t know - bedwarmer?”_ _

__“You just want to get it for free,” Kay says, tilting his neck as Gwaine begins scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin, leaving behind tiny nips and bites._ _

__“You _wound_ me.”_ _

__“Gwaine. Shut up.”_ _

__Gwaine grumbles something into his neck, and Kay feels a moment of loss when he draws his fingers out, but groans softly as he feels the slick, blunt head of Gwaine’s cock, sliding in._ _

__He closes his eyes, wraps a hand around his own prick and gives himself over to the moment._ _

__They lie quiet for a while and Kay watches the last candle on Gwaine’s table gutter out to nothing, leaving only the moon to give light._ _

__“You could. Stay here with me. I mean, I know it’s no great … love story like Percival and Owen but I would take care of you.”_ _

__Kay traces patterns over Gwaine’s broad chest where he’s resting his head and lets himself contemplate it for a moment; no more whoring, no more pretending to enjoy the attentions of sweaty, grunting men … he sighs._ _

__“I won’t deny it’s … tempting. But - I can’t leave Esther.”_ _

__Kay bites his lip and moves to sit beside Gwaine, looking down at him from under his lashes._ _

__Gwaine stares for a moment and finally laughs. “Gods, no wonder that look works so well on Percival. It’s fairly devastating.” Gwaine reaches up and touches Kay’s mouth with the pad of his thumb._ _

__“You look serious, what is it?” Gwaine sits up then and Kay’s briefly distracted when the sheet slips down to pool around his thighs, but he blinks and makes himself focus._ _

__“I, um, I need money,” he blurts out, then closes his eyes because this is not how this conversation is supposed to go. He and Esther had talked about it, and talked about it and rehearsed possible outcomes, but Kay naked in Gwaine’s bed and basically demanding money, wasn’t one of them._ _

__He opens his eyes but Gwaine is just looking at him with a mild look of confusion on his face._ _

__Kay takes a deep breath and lets it out, keeping his eyes on Gwaine’s face. “I mean - Esther and me … we … we have a plan.”_ _

__“A plan. For which you need money?”_ _

__Kay nods, now unable to meet Gwaine’s gaze at all. “Kay, look at me. Tell me.”_ _

__“We’re um. We’re going to - buy Agatha out. We’ve been talking about it for a while, and then this thing with Owen happened and we were _sent_ to that _house_ and I had to watch - “_ _

__“Hey, come here, it’s all right, Kay …”_ _

__Kay lets himself be pulled in to Gwaine’s embrace, and rests his head against the broad shoulder. He’s shaking and he can feel wetness on his face. Gwaine starts rubbing his back, talking to him in low tones, nonsense words that don’t add up to anything but comfort and soon Kay feels himself calming down, easing in the circle of Gwaine’s strong arms._ _

__“Sorry, it’s just - it was only a few days ago and I was so scared, and I thought, we can’t wait any longer because Agatha’s never going to cut her brother loose, which means never getting rid of that blasted moneylender - “_ _

__Gwaine’s tactics are much more direct this time - he stops Kay’s words by kissing him hard on the mouth, and Kay responds with a kind of desperation that makes him feel like he may never be safe in the world again._ _

__“Gwaine, please, please …” he breathes against Gwaine’s mouth, not even sure what he’s asking for._ _

__“It’s all right, you’re all right, I’ve got you, don’t worry ..” Gwaine’s words are the same rambling, comforting nonsense, even as he pushes Kay down on his back on the mattress, kissing his face and his neck, murmuring in between until Kay can feel the tension leach out of him and he’s left exhausted and spent._ _

__He breathes against Gwaine’s neck and runs his hands through the thick hair falling over Gwaine’s face. This kind of intimacy is usually something Kay doesn’t allow himself, but he knows Gwaine; knows that it will be taken and given in the spirit it’s intended - as two friends comforting each other in the aftermath of a terrible, strange event._ _

__He moves his legs, bracketing Gwaine’s hips and offers up a cheeky grin. It feels weak and strange, and it doesn’t seem to fool Gwaine, who keeps touching him, soothing over his skin with his sword-calloused hands._ _

__“So,” Gwaine says softly, even as he starts tracing a well-worn path over Kay’s chest and flat stomach with his tongue, “You and Esther need money to take over Agatha’s”_ _

__Kay groans and rolls his hips when Gwaine licks a long, lazy stripe up the length of his cock, which hardens under the knight’s expert attentions._ _

__“And … to speed things along, you need a wealthy backer.”_ _

__Kay makes a strangled kind of groan of agreement as Gwaine slowly swallows his length, taking his time to taste every inch of skin, using his tongue and his mouth until Kay is bucking up into the wet, relentless heat and coming so hard everything goes gray for a moment._ _

__Gwaine rests his head on Kay’s hip and grins up at him, a smug, lazy smile that’s so very Gwaine that Kay can’t help but laugh._ _

__“What a coincidence,” Gwaine says idly, reaching for the half-empty vial of oil on the bed, pouring some on his fingers before teasing at Kay’s still-slick hole, “Because I happen to _be_ a wealthy backer. “_ _

__And Kay can breathe properly again.__

**************

On impulse, after leaving Arthur’s chambers, Merlin heads for the stairs that lead to the battlements rather than to the rooms he shares with Gaius.

__He feels the need for some solitude, and silence. He makes his way to the battlements slowly, letting the pacing of his steps provide a kind of peace of their own, until his mind is nearly empty of thought. He half-smiles when he thinks of Arthur pointing out that his head is nearly always empty of thought …._ _

__Merlin sighs, pushes open the heavy door and goes to lean on the heavy, ancient stone, feeling his magic curling under his skin and responding to the weight of the centuries that they carry with them._ _

__It’s grounding somehow and he digs his fingers in, feeling the pleasing scratch of rough stone against his skin._ _

__It’s been such a flurry, the past few days, he thinks, gazing out at the star-thick sky, waiting for his thoughts to order themselves. He feels as though he’s barely had time to think, barely seen Arthur … he sighs._ _

__He’d accepted, long ago, that his feelings for Arthur would be much like his magic: a secret kept, to save his sanity this time, if not his life. Arthur is … bright, and shining and will be king of Camelot one day. Merlin … he’s none of those things. He had managed - he thought - to keep his feelings in check, keep them at bay, but then this thing with Percival and Owen had happened and since then Merlin could swear he’s seen Arthur look at him with more behind his eyes than his usual exasperated affection._ _

__Merlin pushes his hands through his hair and stares at the stars until they start looking like nothing at all._ _

__He weighs and considers all his options, standing up on the battlements. He could tell Arthur how he feels … Merlin bites his lip and allows himself to indulge in a fantasy for a moment - of laying all of his secrets and his soul bare at Arthur’s feet … just giving up _everything_ ._ _

__He closes his eyes and savours the lightness he feels just at the thought of it. At Arthur being accepting of his magic, and of wanting Merlin as much as Merlin wants him …_ _

__“Get your head out of the stars, Merlin,” he mutters to himself, blinking and rubbing his eyes, watering from staring at the stars without blinking for too long._ _

__Reluctantly, he turns to go back down the stairs, to his own room, and to another night of restless, heated dreams. Even as he opens the heavy door again, he’s storing up all the little looks and gestures Arthur has given him over the past few days._ _

__He always has been an optimistic sort of an idiot. \ _One month later__ _

__Percival rolls his shoulders and stretches out his arms, savouring the deep ache of a day well spent on the training field in his muscles. He grins at Gwaine, who’s trying to talk Lance into coming out to the tavern with him that night._ _

__“No, Gwaine,” Lance says patiently, for at least the fourth or fifth time. “I intend to eat with my wife tonight, and draw water for her for a bath - she finds it eases the ache in her back.”_ _

__Percival smiles as Gwaine mutters at the soft expression on Lance’s face when he talks about Gwen and their baby to be._ _

__Gwaine puffs out a sigh and pouts in Percival’s direction, raising his eyebrows hopefully._ _

__“Percival …?”_ _

__“No, not me. I just got back yesterday from a week of border patrol with Leon. And - no offence Sir Leon, but I have a much more pleasant bed companion waiting for me. It looks like you might be on your own, Gwaine.”_ _

__Gwaine pouts at him again, and looks around. Arthur and Merlin are deep in conversation away from the others, their voices too low to be heard. Elyan is inspecting a bruise on his side, a blow struck by Leon during their training bout._ _

__“Better go and see Gaius about that, Elyan. Get something to draw out any swelling.”_ _

__Elyan looks up at Lance and frowns down at the already-purpling bruise again._ _

__“I don’t know, it might be all right …”_ _

__“May I?”_ _

__The knights all look up at Merlin and Arthur, now approaching. Elyan grumbles but lets Merlin probe the mark gently with his long fingers._ _

__“Lance is right, Elyan. If you want to be training tomorrow, you had better get a poultice from Gaius.”_ _

__Elyan mutters, but hands his training gear off to Percival and Gwaine, wincing as he turns around._ _

__Percival helps Gwaine put the swords away, half-listening to Merlin and Arthur’s banter in the background as Merlin helps Arthur out of his training armour._ _

__Gwaine, the eternal optimist, keeps trying to talk Percival into going to the tavern with him. Percival just shakes his head and largely ignores him until he throws his hands up in mock-exasperation._ _

__“Fine! I’m off to Esther’s then. Been a while since I checked on my investment.”_ _

__With a broad, cheeky wink at Merlin and Arthur, Gwaine is gone before Arthur can say anything about his inappropriate behaviour._ _

__Percival manages to bite back a laugh and not to catch Merlin’s eye, who is suddenly very intent on examining the blade of Arthur’s sword._ _

__“Right. Well … I’ll – “_ _

__“Bright and early tomorrow morning, Percival,” Arthur says, his stern tone belying the fact that the tops of his ears are burning red._ _

__

__“Yes, sire, of course,” Percival replies, ducking his head quickly before escaping the armoury._ _

__The sun is just setting, casting everything in a blaze of orange, and Percival pauses just for a moment before making his way to his own rooms, a smile playing about his lips._ _

__He opens his door and contemplates the picture within. The room is awash with the light of the sunset, and a few flickering candles. There’s a generous meal laid out on his table and Owen is standing by the window, looking out at the fiery sky._ _

__Percival sighs and rolls his shoulders again as he quietly closes the door behind him._ _

__They’d got back late enough the night before from border duty that Owen had already been asleep, nearly lost in the massive bed, and Percival had had training this morning, so this is the first time they’ve really seen each other in just over a week._ _

__A few quick strides brings Percival to Owen. He wraps his arms around him, still gentle even though Owen’s bruises and injuries are long faded thanks to Gaius and Percival’s close attention and to Owen’s own youth and health._ _

__Owen smiles and leans back against Percival’s chest, resting his hands over the corded muscles of Percival’s arms. His gaze returns to the dying daylight as he starts running his hand over Percival’s skin, bringing up goosebumps and making Percival shiver._ _

__“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Owen says, his voice dreamy and distant. Percival leans down and nips lightly at the skin just behind Owen’s ear, an action that never fails to elicit a reaction._ _

__Owen starts slightly, as though he’s just realised that Percival is there, even though he’s tucked up against Percival’s broad chest._ _

__“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Percival says as the sun goes down behind the horizon. “Now come and have something to eat before it all gets cold. I’ll not have my squire scolding me again for you being so skinny.”_ _

__Owen laughs at that and turns around in the circle of Percival’s arms, tilting his face up for a kiss. Percival obliges, kissing him at the corner of his mouth. Owen pouts at that but Percival merely nudges him towards the table._ _

__“Your squire fusses too much,” Owen says, even as he sits down and reaches out for the loaf of bread, tearing it in two. He hands Percival the larger half and starts pulling out the soft inside, chewing on it slowly._ _

__Percival shakes his head and pours two cups of wine before attending to his plate, the smell of the food making his stomach growl. Owen bursts out laughing at that, a light infectious noise that soon has Percival grinning._ _

__Percival applies himself to his food and they talk quietly – Percival about training and how Elyan had managed to get hurt, and Owen about spending the day trailing around the market after Gwen, not realising that offering to help her would mean playing fetch-and-carry most of the day._ _

__“I’m all right,” Owen assures Percival quickly when he sees a frown mar his forehead. “Gwen fussed over me as much as you and Geraint do. She ended up roping in one of the guards to help us when she thought I was carrying too much.”_ _

__Percival studies Owen’s face for a moment longer, but he doesn’t seem to be particularly tired, so he lets it go._ _

__He reaches out his hand across the table and Owen takes it immediately, linking their fingers together._ _

__“Do we fuss over you too much? Geraint and I? I told him, when you came here, to treat you like he would if … if you were my wife and – you’d tell us if it were too much wouldn’t you?”_ _

__Percival rubs his thumb over the back of Owen’s hand, over the bump of each knuckle, quietly enjoying the feeling of smooth skin and the warmth of the moment._ _

__Owen lifts Percival’s hand to his mouth on impulse, turning it over and kissing the palm. “You do fuss. You and your evil squire, but … it’s … nice. It’s – home. I don’t know how else to explain it. I went from living with my mother, to nearly starving on the street to working at the brothel … and I had people who helped me when I needed it – I had Kay, and Esther, and Kay is like a brother to me but … “_ _

__Owen sighs and pushes his free hand through his hair. “I’m not saying this very well. What I’m trying to say is – you and Geraint and Gwen and all can fuss over me as much as you like. Because for the first time in a really long time, I feel like I’m home.”_ _

__The rest of dinner is abandoned, as Percival stands up, pulling Owen with him and they both somehow land on the bed, kissing now with deep intent, pulling at shirts and breeches and dragging at boots, until there’s nothing between them but skin and their own words and hearts._ _

__Percival kisses Owen again, slow and deep, groaning as Owen’s mouth opens under his, turning the kiss heated and filthy and stock-full of promise._ _

__Percival rolls his hips down, letting his already-hard cock press into Owen’s thigh, enjoying the friction. Owen groans into his mouth again, and pushes up against Percival’s movement until they find a rhythm together. Owen tilts his head back and Percival takes the silent invitation, kissing an invisible pattern over his neck, nipping at the parts he knows are more sensitive._ _

__Owen grips at Percival’s shoulders with his fingers, digging in hard enough to leave bruises as Percival teases at his neck with his mouth and tongue, humming slightly at the addictive taste of Owen’s sweat and skin._ _

__“Percy …” Owen’s voice is high and strained, and Percival can tell he’s at the outer limits of his control. He covers Owen’s mouth again with his own and wraps both their straining, leaking cocks in one large hand. It takes no more than a few strong pulls and he’s gasping nonsense words into Owen’s mouth as he comes, feeling Owen’s orgasm spill onto his hand a moment later._ _

__They lie for a while as the room darkens and the candles gutter, exchanging quiet touches, kisses and soft words spoken against heated skin. Percival moves eventually, dragging himself off the bed long enough to find a basin of water left on top of the small bedside table with a square of rough linen beside it. He wets the fabric before returning to the bed, wiping down Owen’s chest and cleaning up his own._ _

__He lies down and opens his arms for Owen who immediately tucks himself into Percival’s side, winding his arms and legs around him like a tangled tree root._ _

__“I hate you going away,” Owen says quietly, stroking one hand down Percival’s broad chest and flat stomach. “But I do love it when you return.”_ _

__Percival pulls Owen up so he’s sprawled across his chest and kisses him, while reaching out to the table by the bed with one hand, groping for the vial of oil he knows is lying by the basin of water._ _

__He finds it finally, handing it to Owen who pops the cork out and carefully pours some on to Percival’s fingers before rolling off and lying on his back on the bed._ _

__Percival wastes no time, pressing one slick finger against Owen’s hole and pushing in slowly, all the while kissing the moans and words out of his mouth._ _

__“More, Percy, more please - “ Owen is spread out on the tangled sheets like a shameless, obscene offering, his skin luminous in the strip of moonlight coming through the window. Percival is so hard he can’t think of anything but pushing another oil-slick finger in and seeking out the spot that will make Owen arch off the bed, crying out, his hand gripping Percival’s bicep so tight there are already red marks there._ _

__Percival kisses him again, their mouths open against each other, wet and filthy and god, _perfect_._ _

__He has three fingers buried deep in Owen and he aches. “Percy …” Owen mutters against his shoulder as he carefully draws his fingers out before pouring the last of the oil over the length of his cock and pressing in slowly and carefully, breathing into Owen’s neck as the tight clutch around him relaxes into a slick heat and they start moving together, faster and faster as their rhythm pulls them up and in towards the inevitable._ _

__Percival comes first, feeling it everywhere as he empties deep inside Owen, hs hands tight on Owen’s hips._ _

__Owen pants against Percival’s neck, hands still gripped tight on his arms, as he grinds up tight against Percival, suddenly coming everywhere, wet and slick between them._ _

__He collapses back onto the bed, pulling Percival with him. Percival touches Owen’s stomach, spattered with white fluid, feeling suddenly a little overwhelmed. Owen opens his eyes and runs a hand along Percival’s jawline, pulling him down for a deep, long kiss._ _

__Percival sinks into the moment, kissing Owen back as hard as he can while carefully pulling out. He looks down again, and offers a quick grin before lowering his head and licking at the spatters of come on Owen’s chest and stomach._ _

__Owen groans softly but does nothing more than place a hand on Percival’s shoulder, stroking at the skin. Percival keeps going, cleaning with his tongue, until he reaches Owen’s thigh. He nips at it and moans softly when he sees Owen’s hole - red and swollen and leaking come and oil. He kisses it gently to gauge Owen’s reaction. “Is this … all right?” he asks softly, feeling Owen’s fingers squeeze his shoulder briefly._ _

__“Y-yes, please - “_ _

__Owen’s voice fades to a groan as Percival flicks his tongue out, tentative at first, not sure of the taste, but soon he’s holding Owen’s legs open and pinned down with his hands, chasing the elusive musk behind the taste of his own come and slick of the oil, all but fucking Owen open again with his tongue._ _

__Owen’s tight around him again, and hot and all Percival can do is groan as he licks every bit of come and oil into his mouth and moan against the taste of it. He’s hard again, impossibly so, and in his haze he watches as Owen pulls frantically at his own cock, coming all over his hand._ _

__Percival rises to his knees, gripping his own cock tight in his hand, keeping his eyes on Owen, who watches him fall apart with wide dark eyes, his kiss-swollen mouth open. He licks his lips once in a while before moving swiftly, changing position so he can take Percival’s cock in his mouth, expertly swallowing the length right before Percival starts coming, one hand tangled in Owen’s hair as he shouts his release into the night._ _

__Owen collapses back on the bed, his arms and legs a relaxed sprawl, his eyes already closing. Percival waits for a moment, breathing deep, until he’s sure he can support his weight. He gets off the bed and stumbles to the table in the middle of the room, draining off the last of the wine from their meal. He then grabs a square of rough cloth, dips it in the basin of water, and gently cleans off Owen’s stomach. Owen grumbles and turns onto his side, facing away from Percival._ _

__Percival grins, drops the cloth and lies down, fitting his chest to Owen’s back and slinging an arm carefully around his waist. Owen winds their fingers together and yawns, suddenly._ _

__Percival kisses the back of his neck and says softly, “Go to sleep. I love you.”_ _

__“Love you too,” Owen mutters, as his eyes slip closed and his breathing evens out._ _

__Percival closes his own eyes, letting Owen’s warmth and the rhythm of his quiet breathing carry him over the edge into sleep.__

**************

Arthur sits at his table long after Merlin has left for the night. He sprawls careless in his chair, vaguely aware that he might have had a little bit too much of the excellent wine. He’s not drunk, exactly, but he’s very … relaxed.

__He tips the cup he’s holding and drains the dregs, putting it back down on the table, slightly harder than he means to, and the sound echoes loudly in his empty room._ _

__Arthur sits back again and stares at the flickering fire, chasing down why he should feel so content. His relationship with his father is still tense, even so long after Arthur had faced him down about the Round Table and Percival, and with no news of Morgana for so very long … Arthur sighs and shakes his head._ _

__He rubs a hand over his face, pushing his fingers through his hair before standing up. He stays still for a moment, in case he’s drunker than he thinks he is, but his legs stay steady under him._ _

__Despite the fact that he’s already gone for the night, and he’s been at Arthur’s side all day during training, there’s only one person Arthur wants to see right now._ _

__He leaves his rooms, has a quiet word with the guards so they stay put, while he sets his course for Gaius’ chambers._ _

__The old physician is asleep, if his rumbling snores are anything to go by. Arthur slips past as quietly as he can, and knocks on Merlin’s door._ _

__“Merlin?” he says softly, frowning when there’s no response. He hadn’t left Arthur that long ago, surely he wasn’t asleep already …_ _

__Arthur pushes the door open and curses softly when he sees Merlin’s empty bed. He glances around the room just in case, and snorts to himself when he sees the messy state of it._ _

__“Typical,” he mutters quietly to himself before moving quietly back past Gaius and out into the corridor again, slightly nonplussed. He frowns for a moment, mentally sorting out where Merlin could be. Not in his own room, clearly. Not in Arthur’s room … tavern? Arthur turns that idea over before dismissing it._ _

__He’s sure Merlin has his fair share of debauched nights at the tavern with Gwaine, but he’s equally sure that tonight isn’t one of them. It’s very late for one thing - they had lingered in Arthur’s room, talking quietly long after the meal was finished, something that has become rather a habit of late - something that Arthur can admit he looks forward to._ _

__He’d wanted to say that to Merlin, feeling vaguely like they’d left their conversation unfinished when Merlin had bid a somewhat awkward goodnight. He wants to say a lot of things to Merlin, but first he has to bloody find him … Arthur’s eyes fall on the staircase that leads up to the battlements and feels his face break out into a grin. Of course,_ _

__Merlin - who really is a giant girl, no matter what he says to the contrary - had told Arthur during one of their post-dinner conversations that he goes up to the battlements sometimes, when he needs to clear his head. Arthur grins again and heads up the staircase, keeping one hand on the wall all the way up. The wine is settled in his blood now, and he’s a little bit … unsteady._ _

__The stair spiral up and up and Arthur’s grateful when the door appears on the shallow landing. He pushes it open and steps out onto the battlements, his eyes immediately going to Merlin, who’s leaning over one of the tall structures, gazing out into the night._ _

__It’s late enough that the sky is still an inky black, a thick pattern of stars overlaying it like so many tiny, sparkling gems. Quietly Arthur goes to stand beside Merlin and for a while they both just stare out at the night. The forest is nothing but a black outline against a blacker sky. Arthur tilts his head up, trying to find familiar constellations, but giving up because there are just so many stars out._ _

__“I used to come up here as a boy,” Arthur says eventually. “Never this late at night, but sometimes if I could get away from my father and my lessons, I’d hide up here.... I’d forgotten.”_ _

__Merlin says nothing as Arthur leans his arms on the thick stone wall in front of them. He shivers involuntarily as the stone is cold, any warmth from the day leached out of them when the sun went down. Merlin moves closer so they’re standing shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the night._ _

__“Masters of all we survey,” Merlin says then, quietly, his voice full of laughter._ _

__Arthur grins at the tone and falls easily into the banter. “I don’t know what you’re master of, Merlin but all I can see out there is a great bloody black lump.” Arthur waves an arm in the vague direction of the forest._ _

__“And the stars, Arthur. Don’t forget the stars.”_ _

__“Master of the stars,” Arthur says, affecting his most grave voice. “That _does_ have a nice ring to it...”_ _

__Merlin nudges against him then, his shoulders shaking. “Idiot.”_ _

__“I’m your _prince_ Merlin, you can’t call me that.”_ _

__Arthur feels his words would be a lot more impressive if he didn’t sound like he was trying not to laugh through them._ _

__Merlin turns his head and grins, wide and open like always. On impulse, Arthur reaches out and traces over Merlin’s bottom lip with his thumb. It’s a bare, light touch, hardly anything in the deep, dark night, but it feels like it has the weight of years, of the stones under their feet, pressing on it._ _

__“Arthur …”_ _

__“I … um.” Arthur drops his hand and steps back, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. “I wanted to find you to say - I’ve really been enjoying spending time with you.” It’s awkward and hopeless and Arthur winces at himself. Right when he needs them, when he needs the inner confidence that being the Prince of Camelot gives him - they desert him and he’s left tripping and stumbling over his words._ _

__“You see me every single day. I’m surprised you’re not sick of me yet.”_ _

__Arthur’s eyes have adjusted to the night and he can see the pale outline of Merlin’s face, the slight downturn of his generous mouth. Merlin’s tone is slightly off, almost shaky and Arthur silently curses himself. He’s come to realise over the past month just how deep Merlin’s feelings for him run, and it’s humbling in a way, and confusing and terrifying, and somewhat wonderful, though Arthur would rather throw himself off the battlement than admit that out loud to Merlin._ _

__“I - um. I wanted to - “ Arthur stops again and pushes his hand through his hair._ _

__“You’re really terrible at this, has anyone ever told you that? Will this help?”_ _

__Before Arthur can say anything else, or react, Merlin has leaned into his space, pressing a small kiss at the side of his mouth._ _

__Merlin steps back, his expression nearly hidden in the night. “Your move, your highness.”_ _

__Arthur blinks in shock, and takes a breath, not trusting his voice momentarily._ _

__“You know how I feel, I think, Arthur. I’ve … felt the same way about you for a long time. I will live and die for you, for Camelot, for Albion. You will be a great king. You will be _my_ king, but I can’t carry _this_ around any longer without some kind of … sign.”_ _

__Merlin stops and takes a deep breath, turning his head to look out at the night sky again._ _

__“Merlin …” Arthur pauses then, sensing an important shift in their relationship about to happen. He has to choose his words very carefully._ _

__“Merlin,” he says again, his voice gentler this time. “Look at me.” Arthur waits until Merlin turns his head, his eyes impossible to read._ _

__“I … know. How you feel about me, I mean, of course I know, I’m not that much of an oblivious idiot - “_ _

__Merlin chokes out a small laugh then, and Arthur draws in and lets out a long breath._ _

__“I’m not …” he pauses again, searching for the right words. “I’m not .. in the same place as you are. Not - not yet. You’re well ahead of me on this and I need to - to - “_ _

__“Catch up?” Merlin asks softly and somehow he’s inside Arthur’s personal space again, so close that Arthur can see his eyelashes, inky-black and impossibly long._ _

__“I mean - if that’s what you meant. If you meant, catch up with me and not, you know, no Merlin, never in a million years and oh god please stop me talking because I’m just going to keep going - “_ _

__Arthur leans forward and kisses him, a fast, clumsy press of lips and nothing like he thinks a real first kiss should be, but it serves its purpose, cutting off Merlin’s babble. The silence is sudden and somehow shocking._ _

__Arthur bites gently at Merlin’s bottom lip and draws back._ _

__“That’s exactly what I meant, Merlin,” he says gently. “I just - I need time. A lot has happened, and I need. Time.”_ _

__“Well, I’m not going anywhere. Unless of course, you threaten to banish me again, and then I’ll just take Gwaine up on his offer to drown my sorrows down at the tavern and the last time that happened I lost my breeches and somehow ended up with a chicken. I set it free,” Merlin finishes solemnly, even as Arthur is torn between laughing as hard as he can and a jealous knot that Gwaine gets to be that free with Merlin._ _

__He wavers, but laughter wins out because the picture that Merlin is painting is just so ridiculous._ _

__“I. Um. I babble when I’m nervous?”_ _

__Arthur’s mouth twitches as he bites his lip to bring his laughter under control._ _

__“Yes, Merlin, I had actually noticed that before tonight.”_ _

__“I mean it, Arthur. I don’t care how long it takes for you to … catch up. I’ll be here. Where I’m meant to be.”’_ _

__Arthur lets out another long breath and feels tension that had coiled in his shoulders and neck start to leach out of him at Merlin’s reassuring words._ _

__They both move this time, standing just inside each other’s space._ _

__“Is this all right?” Merlin asks, before kissing Arthur again, more lingering but still little more than a press of lips._ _

__Arthur hums in agreement, low in his throat as he wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, pulling him in even closer. He kisses him then, slowly and thoroughly, taking his time to memorise the contours of Merlin’s mouth against his own, the feel of Merlin’s smooth skin under his hands … he pulls back somewhat reluctantly, but he had meant what he said.  
“I really do need to take this slowly, Merlin,” He sounds apologetic to his own ears, but Merlin just buries his head in Arthur’s neck and murmurs quietly against his skin, something that’s not quite words, but sounds reassuring anyway._ _

__Merlin shivers suddenly and Arthur’s aware of a cold breeze springing up, whistling softly through and around the stones._ _

__“Come on. You’re barely anything but skin and bones, you’ll catch your death out here.”_ _

__Arthur guides Merlin back down the stairs and to his own room, where the fire is just dying out to embers. He picks up the poker, indicating for Merlin to sit in one of the chairs set in front of the hearth. Arthur finds some dry wood and carefully builds the fire back up until it’s blazing and warm._ _

__He watches Merlin sleeping for a moment, enjoying the hypnotic play of the firelight flickering over his skin, casting shadows and making his eyelashes look long and spiky. Arthur reaches out, pushing Merlin’s unruly hair back from his head._ _

__“Good night, Merlin,” he says, softly as he can, before turning toward his own bed._ _

__Whatever happens from now on, he has Merlin at his side – and soon, Arthur thinks – in his _bed_ which makes him feel flush and hot all over for a moment, before stripping off his shirt and boots, and crawling under the covers._ _

__He turns onto his side so he can see Merlin’s outline and he smiles into the dark and the night. He will be king, and he will have Merlin by his side._ _

__Arthur lets his eyes drift closed on that thought, and he sleeps._ _

  



End file.
